


Angels with Dirty Faces

by tinzelda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, But only with the OMC, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Character Death, Period Typical Attitudes, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2646878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinzelda/pseuds/tinzelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“I wish I had a million dollars,” Steve said. “You could sleep for a week, and then we’ll go on a trip somewhere.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>“A million dollars? That’s one heck of a trip.”</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>“Okay, smart guy, what would you do if you had that kind of money?”</em></p><p> </p><p>When Steve’s mother is diagnosed with tuberculosis, Bucky makes it his mission to take care of him after she’s gone. They both scrape to make ends meet in the wake of her death, but Bucky always makes sure he scrapes just a little harder. That’s what good friends do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels with Dirty Faces

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the 2014 Steve/Bucky Big Bang
> 
> Thanks a million to [notallbees](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees) for the beautiful art. Huge thanks also for being a pleasure to work with, for being a wonderful cheerleader through multiple drafts of this story, for the insightful beta, for writing my summary, and for being generally brilliant. How lucky was I, in my very first big bang, to get to work with someone who can draw so well and write so well AND be so fun to chat with?
> 
> Thanks also to pharis, who was enthusiastic and supportive (as always) and who gave me some great suggestions after reading the first draft.

[Link to full artwork](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/103125079195/and-it-is-with-great-pleasure-that-i-reveal-the)

“I’m sorry, Barnes, but you know how it is. Times are still tough.”

Bucky didn’t answer. He knew Mr. Williams wouldn’t be letting him go unless he really had to. He left the office in a daze.

He should consider himself lucky. It’s not like his parents would kick him out if he wasn’t bringing home a paycheck, though he hated the idea of not pulling his own weight. He would have felt even worse if he’d managed to talk Steve into getting their own place. He’d been trying to convince Steve for months to move in together. What if Steve had gone along with it just in time for Bucky to lose his job? You could impose on your folks in ways you just couldn’t with a friend. Even a good friend like Steve.

Bucky knew that Steve would never have said a word to make Bucky feel even worse than he already did about getting fired. In fact, Bucky could already imagine the things Steve would say to encourage him: _You’ll get an even better job—I’m sure of it._ And probably something like: _You’re probably better off. There was next to no chance of you getting a promotion there. I give you six months anywhere else and you’ll be running the place._ Or he might tease a little: _You’ll do anything for a chance to sleep late._

Bucky had to laugh at himself when he realized that he was already heading for Steve’s apartment. He must have been so eager for the pep talk that his feet turned him in that direction without him even thinking about it. He was already planning what he could say—he would ham it up a little, pretend to be crushed. Steve would see right through it and roll his eyes, but he’d still give Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze and put on a pot of coffee. They’d sit down and figure out how to get Bucky some work.

When Bucky got to the Rogers’ door, though, he had to knock three times before Steve answered. And he didn’t smile at Bucky. He barely even looked at him. Steve _always_ smiled when Bucky showed up at his door.

“Ma’s sick,” Steve said. His words were quiet and clipped. He hadn’t opened the door more than a couple of inches. “You’d better not come in.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t care about that. Of course I’m coming in.”

Steve frowned, but after a moment he stepped back to let Bucky by.

Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm with one hand and pushed the front door shut with the other. “What’s wrong?”

Steve was standing there in some kind of daze. His hair was a mess, like he hadn’t combed it when he’d gotten out of bed that morning. Bucky started to lift his hand and smooth it down, but Steve turned abruptly away. Bucky followed him to the kitchen.

They settled into chairs, and Bucky waited, but Steve still didn’t speak. He was staring at his hands where they rested on the table.

“Steve?”

Finally Steve looked up, and it was obvious he was fighting back tears. His voice came out in a whisper. “Doctor says it’s TB.”

Bucky felt terror jolt up his spine. His first impulse was to grab Steve and run. God knew Steve’s chest was weak at the best of times. What if he caught it? How long could he possibly last? Bucky knew Steve would never leave her when she was ill, but he was the last person who should be playing nurse.

Steve was watching him, waiting for him to say something.

“Can they do anything?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. When he next spoke, his voice was even quieter. “She can’t work anymore now.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Bucky knew Steve’s job didn’t bring in much. Without Mrs. Rogers’s salary, they wouldn’t have enough to live on. Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand and squeezed it, hard. “We’ll figure it out.”

Steve gave him a weak smile, squeezing back. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Does she need anything? Medicine?”

Steve shook his head.

“What about you? Have you eaten anything?”

Steve shook his head again.

“How about a make us a couple of sandwiches, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

“I’ll heat up some soup for Ma.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but having something to do made Bucky feel a little better. While Steve stirred soup in a small saucepan, Bucky found ham and cheese in the icebox. A sudden burst of coughing came through the thin walls, awful to hear. Bucky moved closer to Steve, as if he could step between him and the germs.

“I’ll go check on her,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky could hear their voices in the other room, though he couldn’t distinguish words. When Steve came back, he filled a bowl with soup, then disappeared around the corner again. By the time he returned, Bucky had the sandwiches and two glasses of milk sitting on the table. They ate their lunch in silence.

When they were done, Steve tried to get up and clear the table, but Bucky pushed him back into his chair. He was still sitting there when Bucky finished, his elbows on the table, cradling his forehead in his hands. Bucky pulled his chair over next to Steve’s and threw one arm over his shoulders.

“Will you be all right for a little while?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to get my mother.”

“No, it’s all right. I can—”

“Shut up,” Bucky said, giving Steve a gentle shake. “We need help.”

“But—”

“No, Steve. She’ll know what to do, and we have no idea.”

Bucky didn’t wait for Steve to agree. He almost ran home. His mother did exactly what he’d hoped she would do when she heard what had happened. She put aside her dust cloth, pinned on her hat, and was out the door with Bucky before she’d finished buttoning her coat.

Her presence was just what they needed. Steve’s almost reflexive politeness made him unable to just sit and stare while she was in the room, forcing him to act more normally. She gave him and Bucky errands to run and little tasks to do. Her brisk efficiency filled up the rooms, so Mrs. Rogers’s coughing didn’t seem as loud and terrible as it had before.

When the apartment was clean and tidy, Mrs. Rogers fed and bathed, and Mrs. Barnes was finally ready to go home, she pulled Bucky aside. His mind was with Steve in the bedroom, wishing he wouldn’t get so close. He imagined the air in Mrs. Rogers’s room as an infectious gray cloud.

“James Buchanan Barnes, have you heard one word I’ve said?”

“Sorry, Ma.”

“Does he understand how serious this is?” she asked quietly.

Bucky nodded.

She sighed. “It could take a long time though. She won’t want to leave him.”

Bucky swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

Mrs. Barnes put her hand on Bucky’s cheek. “You’re staying here,” she said.

It wasn’t really a question, so Bucky didn’t say anything.

“Make sure he eats.”

“I will.”

*****

Mrs. Rogers’s coughing woke Bucky early the next morning. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been shaken out of his restless dreams by the terrible, racking coughs from the other side of that door. How was it possible that she’d progressed so far, so quickly? She must have been ill for a while. That would be like her—to hide it from Steve, always trying to protect him.

Every time he heard it, the sound made Bucky almost sick with anger and helplessness. It was too much like the ending he feared for Steve.

Bucky dragged himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He’d hoped to have a little while to pull himself together before Steve got up, but he was already seated at the kitchen table. There were dark circles under his eyes.

“There’s coffee,” Steve said.

Bucky went to the stove to pour himself a cup, resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder for a moment as he passed by. They sat at the table with their coffee for a long time without talking until Steve seemed to shake himself out of his stupor.

“It’s after seven. I’ll make some eggs while you wash up.”

He started to rise from his chair, but Bucky reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him back down.

“Stop fussing. I’ll make breakfast.”

“But you’re going to be late for work.”

Bucky let out a strange bark of laughter. With everything that had happened since he showed up at Steve’s door, he’d almost forgotten about being let go. “I’m not going to work.”

Steve stared at him with a frown.

“I got fired,” Bucky admitted. “Yesterday. Just before I came over here.”

“Bucky—”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Bucky insisted. “Mr. Williams just couldn’t afford to keep me. It wasn’t all that great a job anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky shrugged. Steve clearly didn’t have it in him to give the pep talk Bucky had anticipated, and Bucky felt like a heel for even thinking about it now.

“You could have told me.”

“You’ve got enough to worry about,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve bowed his head and sighed. Bucky had another urge to grab him and drag him out of there. He shouldn’t have to sit there and listen to that horrible coughing, to watch his mother die.

*****

It made Bucky desperate to find another job as soon as he could. Steve would resist, but he’d need help. And even if all Bucky could do was pick up a few groceries on his way over now and then, he wanted to have the cash to do it. He spent the next three days poring over the meager want ads in the paper. He swallowed his pride and told everyone he could think of that he’d been fired, asking if they’d heard of any openings.

In the end, it was his father who came through for him. He’d run into a cousin and her husband and stopped to say hello.

“You remember him, don’t you? MacNally’s his name,” Mr. Barnes said.

Mrs. Barnes chimed in. “Marjorie was married at St. Timothy’s—remember? And they had that awful spice cake.”

“I’m afraid I don’t recall the cake,” Mr. Barnes said with a teasing grin at his wife. “But I did remember he owns a factory. And a successful one at that. I don’t even remember what he makes—shirts? Something like that. Anyway, Marjorie complained about paperwork keeping him at the office late. I saw my chance and suggested he might want to hire an assistant.”

“You’re kidding.” Bucky had only the vaguest memory of Marjorie, but he was willing to exploit the family connection if there was any chance it would get him a job.

His father smiled. “He wants to see you tomorrow. Eight o’clock sharp.”

Determined not to be late, Bucky was waiting by the main door of the factory just a little after seven. He watched a few people rush past him. They looked hurried but not panicked. Bucky figured that was a good sign. They were probably late for their shift, but this apparently wasn’t the kind of place where folks worried about getting fired for showing up a few minutes late.

Bucky could imagine the day ahead of them. It wasn’t hard for him to picture, because for the last ten months he’d done similar work. It had been mind-numbingly boring on the assembly line, standing all day on the cold concrete floor until his feet were numb and his knees ached. But it had been steady work with reasonable wages, until Mr. Williams had to let him go.

A bookkeeping job was probably only marginally more interesting, but he’d at least be more comfortable. If he were working with the boss, he’d be in a nice office, heated in cold weather. There’d be a window to let in some fresh air when it was hot.

A little before eight, he saw a short, balding man approaching from down the street. No one else had come into the factory for more than a half hour, and the man wore a suit and a pair of shiny loafers, so Bucky figured he must be Mr. MacNally. As he got closer, Bucky saw that he was younger than his thinning hair would suggest. He walked slowly, carrying a cane and a thick leather briefcase stuffed with papers. He favored his right leg, which dragged behind him just a little bit with each step.

Seeing his uneven gait, Bucky suddenly remembered cousin Marjorie’s wedding a few years before: all the guests had said it was the first decent wedding they’d been to since the twenties. It had been a fancy reception because the groom came from money, but there’d been no dancing because he’d had polio as a child and had a bad leg.

Bucky strode quickly to the man’s side. “Good morning, sir. I’m James Barnes.” He held out his hand. “You must be Mr. MacNally?”

The man looked up, flustered. His face was flushed from the effort of struggling with the bag and his cane. “Yes. Yes, Barnes. Hello. Forgive me. I . . . well . . .”

“I understand, sir.” Bucky learned from Steve when he wasn’t feeling at his best not to draw attention to the problem, so when he spoke, he kept things matter of fact. “May I help with your bag, sir?” Rather than wait for an answer, Bucky gently took the briefcase from Mr. MacNally’s hand, then turned and began to walk at an easy pace he thought MacNally could match.

Mr. MacNally unlocked the door, and Bucky held it open for him as he passed through. Then he followed MacNally into the office, waiting by the door while he hung up his hat and opened the blinds to let in the sunshine.

“There we are.” MacNally was no longer breathing heavily, and he smiled pleasantly. “Have a seat, Mr. Barnes. Have a seat.”

Bucky set the briefcase on the desk without a word and settled himself in the wooden chair across from Mr. MacNally’s desk. Then the man started talking and didn’t stop for almost ten minutes straight. He told Bucky about how his father had founded the factory, all about their products—Bucky hadn’t known there were so many different kinds of shirts—and how he hoped to increase production in the next few years.

“It’ll be a boon to the neighborhood if we can expand. If I can get another line up and running, it’ll mean fifty new jobs, at least—shift work, of course. And I’ll still keep my wages competitive.”

For a moment Bucky thought of Steve: new jobs might mean Steve could work here too, and he might be able to earn more than he made now. But Bucky dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred to him. He didn’t want Steve working on the assembly line, even for a boss as seemingly benign as MacNally.

MacNally began to list Bucky’s duties as office clerk. He even shyly confided that his wife had convinced him to hire an assistant because they were expecting a baby, and she didn’t want him to work so hard anymore. Most importantly, he talked as if there were no question at all that the job was Bucky’s. Bucky’s nervousness evaporated.

As Mr. MacNally spoke, he rose from his chair and walked over to the window. Although he was more composed now than when Bucky had first seen him, his limp was still obvious. Bucky had never met a man like MacNally—in spite of his crippled leg, he was a success. Some of it was luck: if he’d had to earn his living doing physical labor, he might not have done so well.

Bucky wished that Steve could have the kind of family that would give him a business to run. He was smart enough to do it, and if he had the kind of background and the money that made people listen, there was no telling what he could accomplish. Even if Steve just had the chance for a cushy office job like this.

A plan started to form in Bucky’s head as he watched MacNally pace.

“I work the occasional Saturday,” Mr. MacNally was saying, “Now that you’re here to help, I’m hoping that won’t be necessary, but if I do, I’d expect you to be here as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any questions for me, young man?”

Bucky hesitated. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, and the last thing he wanted was to make MacNally angry so that he gave the job to some stranger. Imagining Steve trudging into a factory like this every morning, exhausting himself working the machines, on his feet all day, and aggravating his asthma by breathing in the dusty air, Bucky took a deep breath and hoped for the best.

“Mr. MacNally, I know you’re doing me a big favor to even consider me for this job, and I really do appreciate it. But I have to ask you for an even bigger favor.”

MacNally looked at him, puzzled.

“Would you consider hiring my friend instead? He’s a good guy, really smart. But he’s had trouble finding a good job. And he needs it more than I do. His mother’s very sick.”

MacNally’s face softened. “That’s very generous of you, Barnes. But are you sure? What will I tell my wife? And your father?”

“My parents will understand, sir. Steve’s my best friend, sir, and his mother’s been very good to me.”

“Well, I’ll certainly speak to him. I can’t promise to hire him without so much as meeting him.”

“Of course. I understand. But Mr. MacNally? There’s something else.”

MacNally frowned. Bucky knew he was pushing his luck.

“Steve’s the best guy in the world, and he’s a dedicated worker. He’ll work harder than any three men when he’s here.”

“What do you mean _when he’s here_?”

“He has a bad chest, sir. Sometimes gets sick and needs a few days off. Every time he gets sick, he’ll be back the minute he can drag himself out of bed, believe me. He doesn’t have a lazy bone in his body. I just thought maybe you’d understand, considering how much you’ve overcome to be a success yourself, sir.”

Mr. MacNally glanced down at his own leg, then straightened his spine and set his mouth into a hard line. Bucky was afraid that MacNally was insulted by the reference to his bad leg, but suddenly his face reddened and he let out a chuckle.

“No need to lay it on so thick, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky grinned back.

Mr. MacNally limped over to his desk and sank onto the chair, still smiling. “All right, I’ll meet this friend of yours, and I’ll give him a trial. If he really works as hard as you say he will, I think we can work something out. I was going to have you start tomorrow, but if you send him in your place, I’ll give him a chance.”

“Thank you, sir. You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Bucky walked out of Mr. MacNally’s office feeling like a million bucks. He was waiting at the bus stop three blocks away before he realized he needed to find _another_ job, and fast. That very day, before he talked to Steve, because there was no way that he would take the job at MacNally’s factory if he knew that Bucky was still out of work.

He boarded the bus, wondering why he was bothering when he had no idea where to go next. But the luck that had gotten him through the negotiations with Mr. MacNally held: he overheard two men in the seat behind him talking about a possible job. When they got off the bus, Bucky followed them to a cannery. There were already about twenty other men waiting in a line just inside the door, but Bucky fought off discouragement, telling himself he had nothing to lose. After about ten minutes of waiting, a man in a three-piece suit came out of an office door at the top of a flight of stairs.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but we only had the one position open, and it’s been filled.”

The man in the suit moved aside, and another, younger man stepped out from behind him. Bucky recognized him as Louis Harvey—he’d been a year ahead of Steve and Bucky in school, and he was a lazy, sneaky son of a bitch. Bucky was not about to lose a job to that bastard.

The boss came down the stairs and started herding the crowd of men toward the door. They grumbled their disappointment but took the news meekly enough. Bucky hung back until all of the others were in front of him. Then he grabbed a broom that was propped against the wall and started sweeping.

His little act seemed to work—no one told him to get lost. No one even seemed to notice him. As he moved the broom across the floor, he watched out of the corner of his eye. The boss introduced Harvey, who was still wearing his smug, oily smile, to another worker and sent them off onto the factory floor.

The foreman headed for the stairs, and just as he lifted his foot to start the climb back up to his office, he caught Bucky’s eye and stopped. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sir, my name’s Barnes, and I stuck around to tell you you’re making a mistake.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, but he looked more curious than angry. “A mistake?”

“I know Lou Harvey, and he’s no good. I’ll work ten times as hard as Harvey for the same wage.”

The foreman had his arms crossed, studying Bucky, but there was just a hint of a smile on his face—he liked Bucky’s nerve, that much was obvious. “I offered Harvey a job in good faith. I can’t go back on my word.”

“Are you a gambling man, sir?” Bucky propped the broom back against the wall where he’d found it. “Because I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ll work for you for two days for nothing. You’ll get a chance to see what I can do compared to old Louis Harvey. After two days, if you honestly think he’s the better man for the job, then you’re no worse off. You get two free days of labor out of me. But if you think I’m the better man,” Bucky paused for a grin, playing up his confidence for the man’s clear amusement, “well, you let Harvey go with his two days’ pay and hire me instead.”

When Bucky told Steve about his good luck that afternoon, he got the first genuine smile to appear on Steve’s face since Mrs. Rogers had gotten sick. Bucky might have left out some of his conversation with MacNally—well, most of it. He didn’t want Steve to refuse the job out of a misplaced sense of pride. And he couldn’t tell Steve about his clever trick at the cannery with the broom or his bet with the boss. He couldn’t make it sound like he’d had to scramble for the job, or Steve would suspect something.

Steve was already ironing his best shirt for his first day at the new job as Bucky left that evening. He walked home slowly, and when he arrived, he found some of his mother’s cookies on the table.

“Thanks, Ma!” he shouted. He heard her call out a response but couldn’t hear the words. He figured he’d find her later and sat down to enjoy his dessert.

His father appeared. He gave Bucky a smile, then slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the table next to the plate of cookies.

Bucky stared at the money. “What’s that for?”

“Your mother thought you might need some decent clothes for the new job.”

Bucky’s heart sank. “Oh.”

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you get to see MacNally?”

“Well . . . sort of. I mean, I saw him, but it didn’t work out the way we planned.”

Mr. Barnes pulled out the chair across from Bucky and sat down. “What does that mean? He as good as promised me—” “No, Dad, he was going to give me the job. He was really nice about it, but . . .” Bucky grimaced. “I kinda gave it to Steve.”

Mr. Barnes leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. It’s just with Mrs. Rogers sick, he really needs—”

“I know, I know. But what about you? I thought you could really go somewhere with this job. I don’t want you always doing shift work. With this experience, you could’ve gone on to a bigger place later. Maybe manage a place like that yourself someday.”

Bucky hadn’t thought about any of that. He just hadn’t been able to bear the idea of Steve struggling on an assembly line. Even with the possibilities pointed out to him, Bucky didn’t really like the idea of working at a desk in an office for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want to tell his father that. “I got another job,” he said lamely.

Mr. Barnes sighed again. He pushed himself out of his chair with both hands on the table. Bucky picked up the ten-dollar bill and tried to give it back, but his father closed his fingers around it.

“You keep it.”

“Wow, thanks, really? This is—”

“It’s not for girls and beer, you understand. You save it. I know you boys want to get your own place.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Mr. Barnes passed behind Bucky’s chair on the way out of the kitchen, he reached over and grabbed a cookie off the plate. Then he gave Bucky’s head a gentle shove. “Next time, figure out a way to help Steve without giving up a perfectly good job.”

*****

“I’ll do the dishes,” Bucky offered, already out of his chair and carrying his plate to the sink.

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve insisted. “You’re supposed to be the guest.” He brought his own plate, as well as his mother’s, and set them next to Bucky’s.

“I’m no guest,” Bucky said. He wanted to help, of course, but he’d also wanted to get up from the table. It was hard sitting there with Mrs. Rogers. Bucky had never seen her hands so still before. She was the kind of woman who was always busy—taking care of her patients, taking care of her home, taking care of Steve—but now her hands lay idle on the table, skeletally thin and painful to look at.

Steve brought over the last few things from the table as Bucky rolled up his sleeves. “Okay,” Steve said. “You wash, and I’ll dry.”

Bucky had scrubbed and rinsed all three plates and was starting on the silverware before he noticed that Steve hadn’t even picked up the dishtowel. He was just standing there, staring at nothing. He looked exhausted.

Bucky knocked his elbow into Steve’s shoulder. Steve shook himself out of his reverie, grabbed the dishtowel, and picked up the first plate. But he stalled again, rubbing the cloth over the plate long after it was dry, moving more and more slowly.

“C’mon, quit daydreaming,” Bucky said.

When Steve didn’t respond, Bucky leaned over and bumped Steve’s side with his hip. Steve gave him a distracted frown.

“You’re making your guest do all the work here,” Bucky said.

That got a weak smile, and Steve finally put down the plate he was holding and reached for the next one. “You said you weren’t a guest,” he pointed out.

Bucky put his hands back in the soapy water, feeling on the bottom of the sink until he found the last two spoons. Once they were washed and rinsed, he held them out, but Steve didn’t take them. He was lost in his thoughts again.

“For crying out loud.” Bucky threw the rag he’d been using to scrub the dishes into the water. “Are you gonna help me with this, or what?”

Steve didn’t even seem to hear him, so he reached out and wrapped one arm around Steve’s neck, pulling his head down and rifling dripping fingers through his hair to mess it up. “Ew, your hands are wet.” Steve twisted under Bucky’s hands, trying to get away.

“Yeah, they are, because I’m actually doing some work, unlike some people.”

“Okay, quit it.” Steve was trying to sound annoyed, but Bucky could hear that really he was trying not to laugh. “Let me go.”

Bucky released Steve, and when he straightened, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair stuck up in damp spikes on one side of his head. Bucky snorted a laugh.

“What?” Steve reached up with one hand to pat at his hair, though it didn’t do much good.

“Nothing,” Bucky answered, still grinning.

Just before he turned back to the sink, Bucky caught a glimpse of Mrs. Rogers over Steve’s shoulder. There was an odd expression on her face, but by the time Bucky looked back again, she wore a familiar smile, full of the same fond indulgence she’d shown them since they were little boys. But Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been watching him.

Was she wondering what he was doing there? Sometimes Bucky worried that he stayed for dinner too often. Maybe that was it—even with Steve’s new job, they struggled to make ends meet. But Bucky almost never came empty-handed, stopping at the grocer or the butcher shop on his way there from work. And even when they didn’t have much, Mrs. Rogers was always generous. Maybe she just plain didn’t want him there—maybe she wanted time alone with Steve. Bucky wanted to help, but what if he was just making a pest of himself?

Steve’s elbow jabbed into Bucky’s ribs, interrupting his thoughts. “Now who’s slacking off?”

Bucky left right after the dishes were done, and he didn’t go back at all the next day. But he didn’t like to think about Steve, on his own, making a glum dinner that Mrs. Rogers would barely touch. She was so quiet now too. Bucky knew he talked too much, but the silence—interrupted only by coughing—had to be getting Steve down.

So on the following day, Bucky stopped at the butcher’s and made his way to Steve’s apartment. After three times knocking without an answer, Bucky began to worry that the chops he’d brought would start to turn in the heat if they didn’t get into the icebox soon.

Mrs. Rogers opened the door after Bucky knocked a fifth time. How was it possible she looked so much thinner? It had barely been two days since Bucky’d last seen her.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to get you up.”

She stepped away from the door, beckoning him in.

“I’m really sorry,” Bucky repeated.

She stumbled a bit, tripping over her robe, which hung off her gaunt frame. Bucky hesitated to touch her, as if his hands might crack her fragile bones, no matter how gentle he tried to be. But he couldn’t stand to watch her struggle.

He took her hand, then wrapped his other arm around her waist to keep her upright. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

They shuffled back to her bedroom. Bucky lifted the covers so she could crawl in, then he pulled them up to her chin.

He didn’t like being in her room. He felt like an intruder, so he apologized again.

She shook her head. “Thank you.”

He turned to leave the room, but she grabbed his hand.

“Your mother told me—”

She was interrupted by a fit of coughing. Bucky forced himself not to cringe.

“She told me what you did for Steve. His job.”

Bucky felt embarrassed, like he’d gotten caught doing something wrong. “Don’t tell him. Please. I’m afraid if he knew—”

Mrs. Rogers stifled another cough and answered, “I won’t tell.”

Bucky nodded, satisfied. Of course—she knew even better than Bucky how much Steve would hate knowing Bucky’d made special arrangements for the job with MacNally.

She was watching him, and something in her expression reminded Bucky of the other night, while he and Steve were doing the dishes.

He took a deep breath. “If I’m hanging around here too much, you just tell me.”

She tried to answer, but couldn’t catch her breath at first. She shook her head and tried again. “It’s good for him. You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah, well, I’d do just about anything for him.”

“I’m glad he’ll have you after I’m gone.” She smiled at him. “I know you’ll look after him.”

He wanted to tell her not to talk like that, but he couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat.

*****

Steve wouldn’t come home with Bucky after the funeral. So Bucky went home to change out of his suit and grab his toothbrush and then headed straight back to Steve’s. His mother smiled at him sadly.

“Make sure he eats.”

“Yeah, Ma, I will.” When Bucky got back with some of Mrs. Barnes’s cookies and a pot of stew, Steve had taken off his tie and was sitting at the kitchen table with his sketchbook and a sharpened pencil. The page in front of him was blank. He looked up when Bucky came in, but he didn’t smile. He never smiled anymore.

“I’m going to draw Ma’s portrait,” Steve said.

Bucky wasn’t sure that was the best idea, but at least it would keep Steve busy.

Bucky heated up his mother’s stew for dinner, though Steve pushed it around with his spoon more than he ate it. After they cleaned up the dishes, Steve went back to polish up his drawing. As he watched Steve’s pencil moving over the paper, adding shadows, Bucky handed him cookies one by one. He ate them without seeming to realize what he was doing.

Steve was absorbed in his drawing for hours before he finally sat back in his chair looking grimly satisfied. “It’s late,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got work in the morning.”

Bucky groaned.

“You could stay here. If you wanted.”

“Of course I’m staying. Why do you think I’m here?”

Steve didn’t show even a hint of a smile at Bucky’s teasing tone, but at least he shook off his stupor. He helped Bucky set up the couch cushions on the floor—neither of them suggested sleeping in Mrs. Rogers’s bed—then brushed his teeth and got into bed like it was just a normal night.

Bucky fell on top of the cushions, bone tired. Steve turned off the lamp on his nightstand, and the apartment was quiet. Bucky thought that even on his lumpy, makeshift bed, he’d be out like a light, but before he was able to fall asleep, he heard muffled sniffling. He was instantly alert.

Steve was quiet, but then Bucky heard another sniff, louder this time. He sat up, and Steve immediately said, “I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bucky answered. He was relieved that Steve was finally crying, even if he tried to hide it. Bucky hadn’t seen Steve shed a single tear throughout the long months of his mother’s illness, and he’d been stony-faced all day in the face of condolences. Bucky crawled up to sit on the edge of Steve’s bed. He was lying on his side, curled toward the wall.

“I’m fine,” Steve repeated.

Bucky didn’t answer. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and just sat there. He felt one silent sob wrack through Steve’s body, but then he was still and calm. Bucky leaned back against Steve’s headboard, keeping his hand steady where it sat. Steve’s breathing quieted, and Bucky was pretty sure he was asleep.

Bucky planned to wait a few minutes to give Steve a chance to fall more deeply asleep, then creep back to his own bed. Instead, he woke up hours later with a terrible crick in his neck from leaning awkwardly against the headboard.

He sat up and rubbed his neck. The idea of getting back down on the flattened cushions on the floor was far from inviting. And Steve was sound asleep anyway. Bucky slid down until his head was on the corner of Steve’s pillow and went back to sleep.

*****

A jangling bell woke Bucky at six thirty in the morning. He groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. “You set the alarm?”

“You’ve got work.”

“I wasn’t going to go.”

Steve looked over his shoulder at Bucky. “But you didn’t go yesterday.”

Bucky shrugged. He rolled onto his side away from Steve, pulling the pillow closer.

“Hey, quit it,” Steve grumbled, yanking the pillow back.

Bucky couldn’t resist tugging again until Steve gave up, let Bucky have the pillow, and sat up.

“You’ll get fired.”

Bucky groaned again.

“Bucky.”

“Oh, all right.” Bucky sat up with his legs hanging off the edge of the bed. “What are you going to do today?”

“What do you mean? I’ve got work too.”

“You’re going to work? I’m sure MacNally would understand.”

“If I don’t go, I’ll just sit around here and mope.”

“I think you’re entitled to mope when—”

Steve interrupted him. “It’s better to keep busy.”

*****

“You did the dishes last night,” Steve pointed out as Bucky took their plates to the sink.

“So?” Bucky turned on the faucet. “You cooked, so I cleaned up.”

“Okay,” Steve said, nudging Bucky out of the way and picking up a dishcloth. “By that logic, you cooked tonight, so it’s my turn to do the dishes.” “At least let me dry.” Bucky reached for the towel hanging from a hook on the wall, but Steve swatted his hand away.

“Will you sit down already?”

Grabbing the newspaper from the kitchen table, Bucky went over to sit on the couch, but he found himself watching Steve more than reading.

As Steve dried the last bit of silverware, there was a knock at the door. He dropped the fork he was holding into the drawer, shoved it with his hip to close it, and went to answer.

“Steve! How you doing?” Gil Noland burst into the room, followed by Tom DeLuca. Steve and Bucky had known Tom and Gil since elementary school. They hadn’t seen much of them lately, though they’d both come to the funeral.

Gil put an arm around Steve’s shoulder—he was probably half a foot taller than Steve, though almost as skinny—and gave him a shake. “Tonight, we’re celebrating!”

“Celebrating what?” Steve asked, shoving Gil away.

“Tom got a raise,” Gil explained. “So the drinks are on him.” He crossed the room and flopped down on the couch next to Bucky.

“Well, the first round anyway,” Tom said with a gruff laugh. “It wasn’t that much of a raise.”

Bucky knew that he should feel glad to see Tom and Gil, but they seemed too cheerful and too damn loud. He’d gotten used to it being just him and Steve.

“So do you live here now, Barnes?” Gil asked, giving Bucky’s shoulder a light punch. “We went to your house, and your mother said she hadn’t seen you for three days.”

“It’s a shorter walk to work from here.” That wasn’t strictly true. Steve’s place was about three blocks farther away than his parents’ house from the cannery, but Bucky wanted to take the uncomfortable look off Steve’s face—of course, he wouldn’t want anyone to think he needed help—and the excuse seemed to do the trick.

“Are we gonna sit here all day yakking? Or are we going out?” Tom said. He was still standing by the door.

Gil stretched out one leg and kicked Tom’s shin. “Hold your horses.” Gil looked at Steve. “You’re coming, right?”

Bucky was ready to make excuses so that Steve wouldn’t have to, but before he could speak, Steve was already agreeing. “Just give me a minute to change,” he said.

After he went into the bedroom and shut the door, Gil turned to Bucky. “How’s he doing?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Well, it’s no wonder, staying holed up in here,” Gil said. “It’s enough to make anyone suicidal.”

“Will you shut up?” Bucky glanced anxiously at Steve’s door. “Don’t let him hear you talking like that.”

Gil made a face. 

Bucky stood up from the couch and went to check on Steve. He’d already changed out of the old clothes he’d put on after work, and he was sliding a tie under his collar.

“We don’t have to go,” Bucky said.

“I want to.” Steve pulled on his jacket and went to the dresser for his hairbrush. “It’ll be fun.”

Steve sure didn’t sound enthusiastic, but if he wanted to go, Bucky was willing.

Bucky pulled out his comb and went to stand behind Steve, looking in the mirror over his shoulder. He was frowning at his hair, which didn’t seem to want to stay flat, no matter how many times he brushed it.

“Here.” Bucky ran his hand over his own hair, then slapped it down on Steve’s head, using the little bit of pomade on his fingers to smooth out the stubborn tuft. “Better?”

“That’s disgusting,” Steve said, but he was smiling the best smile Bucky’d seen in a while.

They went to a little neighborhood bar that Gil’s uncle owned. He let them hang around there even when they couldn’t afford to order much. After Tom had treated them all to beers and had a sandwich himself—he was always hungry—Steve insisted on getting the second round.

While he was up at the bar, Tom leaned over to Bucky. “I guess Steve is doing fine at the new job if he’s springing for beers?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Buck said.

Gil broke in: “We thought it would be good to get him out. Cheer him up, you know?”

Tom grunted agreement.

Bucky was only half listening, because a tall, curvy brunette sitting at the bar had just flashed him a smile. Gil followed Bucky’s gaze to see what was distracting him.

“You gonna go to talk to her?” Gil asked.

“Not tonight,” Bucky said decidedly. He gulped down the last of his beer. “We’re doing this for Steve, right? It was a good idea, taking him out.”

Steve returned with a glass in each hand, and Bucky hoped he hadn’t heard them talking about him. He gave Bucky one of the glasses. Gil’s uncle gave Gil and Tom their drinks before heading back to his post at the bar.

“Thanks, Mr. Noland,” Steve called after him.

“Hey, Bucky,” Tom said. “How’s the job at the cannery working out?”

“It’s fine.”

“You interested in something on the side? My dad got a used moving van, cheap,” Tom explained. “He’s gonna fix it up, see if he can get a real business going. He’s looking for a few guys to help out. It’s nothing regular—it’ll be a while till he gets it going, but it’ll be good money.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said. “Let me know when he gets things started.”

Gil nudged Bucky with his elbow “No more talk about work. With you two, it’s like you can’t think about anything else.”

“You can’t blame a guy for wanting to earn a little extra cash,” Tom said, frowning. “And if this works out for my dad—”

Gil interrupted him with a laugh. “You’re imagining a fleet of trucks, aren’t you? ‘DeLuca and Son’ painted in letters a foot high.”

“Why not?” Tom answered indignantly.

“No reason at all. Dream big. Knock yourself out. But not tonight—we’re here to have fun. Enough about work.”

“Fine,” Tom answered.

“You know what I think we need? Darts. You guys up for a round?” Gil stood up and gave a devilish grin. “Not on Steve’s team!”

“Not on Steve’s team,” Tom echoed.

Bucky was horrified. They all teased Steve like the kid brother they never had, but given the circumstances . . . but when he turned to Steve, he was laughing.

“That’s fine, you traitors,” Steve went to get the darts from the little shelf by the board on the wall. “You’ll be sorry.”

Gil had wanted to do something fun, but Bucky had trouble enjoying the game at first. He hated watching Steve—he stood so still as he took aim, his brow wrinkled, just trying so damn hard even when most of his darts barely made it onto the board. Tom wasn’t very good either. In spite of his football player’s build, Tom had always been clumsy and hopeless at sports. Gil was no slouch, but Bucky had the best aim, and his hand stayed steady even after a few more rounds when Gil started to flounder. There was a clear progression for Gil, with his fair, red-haired Irishman’s complexion: the more he drank, the more flushed his face got, and the more his game suffered.

Steve, on the other hand, actually improved as the alcohol made his limbs looser and his concentration less intense. Even more important, he was clearly having a good time, even in the face of Gil’s teasing. Or maybe because of Gil’s teasing. Bucky realized it was past time to lay off the kid glove treatment.

As they walked home that night, Steve was weaving a bit, so Bucky threw an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“What did I do?”

“Giving up chasing dames for the evening just to cheer me up.”

“Aw, you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Don’t you think I can tell when I’m being cheered up?”

“I guess we weren’t very subtle.”

“No.”

“But did it work?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

Steve leaned heavily into Bucky’s side. He must be drunker than Bucky’d thought. He’d probably kept up with the others round for round, even though he was a lightweight.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really going to work for Mr. DeLuca?”

“Maybe.”

“You said you get paid ten cents more per hour now than you did before with Williams.”

“I don’t mean instead of the cannery. Just every once in a while, on the weekends. Seems like an easy way to earn a little extra cash, you know?”

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Steve said, poking Bucky’s ribs with one finger.

Bucky moved his hand up to rumple Steve’s hair. “Are things ever dull with me around?”

*****

“How about I let you out here?” Mr. Barnes said. “You can start bringing things down, and I’ll park this monster.”

Bucky jumped out of the moving van he’d borrowed from Mr. DeLuca and slammed the door shut. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bucky trotted up the stairs and found the apartment door already open. “Steve?”

Steve’s voice came from the bedroom. “In here.”

Bucky stuck his head in the door. “Dad’s parking the truck. He’ll be up in a minute.”

“Okay.” Steve was struggling to latch a suitcase.

“Here, let me.” Bucky crossed the room and sat down on top of the bag so that Steve could close it up.

“Thanks,” Steve said. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and smiled up at Bucky. “Gil and Tom are going to meet us at the new place.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, so what? I figured we could use the help. You can’t lift everything on your own.”

“I guess. I thought it would be just us.”

“Your dad’s already here.”

“I know.” But Bucky was pretty sure his dad would leave as soon as everything was moved in, whereas Gil and Tom might hang around just to shoot the breeze. Bucky’d been hoping to have the rest of the day to get things set up with Steve.

“Hello?” Mr. Barnes called from the front door.

“I’ll be out in a sec,” Bucky called back. “You finish up in here, huh? We’ll start taking stuff down.”

Things went smoothly while Steve had last minute packing to do, but once that was done, Bucky couldn’t leave the room without coming back to find Steve trying to carry something huge.

“Will you quit it? We can do that.” Bucky took the box out of Steve’s arms and headed back toward the door.

Steve sighed. “I’m not just going to sit here while you do all the work.”

“Then make yourself useful,” Bucky said. “But let us get the heavy stuff.”

Steve scowled but didn’t argue anymore. Bucky balanced a small table lamp on top of the box. As he headed downstairs, he found himself humming. He’d been planning for this day for so long, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased with himself now everything was falling into place. The new place was small—a tiny cold water flat. But it was cheap and close to MacNally’s factory so Steve didn’t have so far to walk to work.

“How much more is there?” Mr. Barnes asked when Bucky got down to the truck.

“Not much,” Bucky said. “The kitchen chairs. The little dresser in the bedroom. Maybe ten or twelve boxes.”

“Let’s get that dresser.”

Bucky followed his father up into Steve’s room. It was strange, seeing it empty. Steve and his mother had lived in that apartment the entire time Bucky had known them.

They managed to wedge the dresser in, but the little van was getting full.

“I’ll shift some things around. We’ll make it fit,” Mr. Barnes said. “You get the last few boxes, then the chairs can go on top.”

Bucky went back upstairs for another armload of stuff and found Steve sweeping the floor. If any job was worse for Steve than running up and down the stairs, it was sweeping—all that dust he was kicking up was bound to trigger his asthma, but Bucky decided to pick his battles. They were almost done here, and then he could get Steve away from the dust and the memories and get him started setting up the new place while the rest of them toted everything in. Bucky’d already cleaned the new apartment until there wasn’t a speck of dirt in sight.

After Steve gave the super his key, a huge smile lit up his face. As Bucky followed him out to the truck, he would have sworn that he even walked with more spring in his step, like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Bucky started the engine. Steve jumped onto the seat next to him, still smiling, and Bucky couldn’t keep a stupid grin off his own face. Mr. Barnes climbed in after Steve, making for a tight fit, but it wasn’t a long ride.

When they drove up to the building, Bucky saw Gil and Tom lounging on the front stoop, waiting. With five men working, the move didn’t take long. Everyone hung around long enough for sandwiches, but not even Tom and Gil stayed much longer because Tom had promised to bring the truck back to his dad as soon as they were finished.

It was a challenge to fit everything into the tiny room. Steve had gotten rid of piles of stuff, but he still had a lot of his mother’s things: the old squashy couch, the scarred kitchen table, and the dishes with the blue flowers. Bucky still guilty felt for breaking one of the plates by accident when he was about ten—Mrs. Rogers said they’d been a wedding present—but he probably didn’t have to worry anymore, because they were kind of half his now.

Bucky was standing on the couch when there was a knock at the door. He’d been trying to pin one of Steve’s drawings on the wall. He kept getting it crooked, so Steve was directing him from across the room. Bucky stayed where he was while Steve went to answer it.

It was Bucky’s mother, bearing a casserole dish. “So you won’t have to cook your first night,” she said.

Bucky jumped down from his perch on the couch to take it from her. “Thanks, Ma.” He kissed her check, then set the dish down on the table.

“You’ve done so much!” she said, looking around the room. “It’s very nice, very homey. I have some old curtains that might work for the window by the beds, if you want them.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Barnes. That’d be great.”

“Oh, and I brought this.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a framed photograph of herself and Bucky’s dad. “So you don’t forget us.”

Bucky laughed. “You’re five blocks away. I think you’ll see us now and then.” He set the picture on the top shelf of the low bookcase by the front door.

“We’d better.” She grabbed Bucky by the arm, pulling him down to kiss his cheek.

Bucky caught Steve’s eye—he’d been watching, and Bucky thought he looked a little wistful. Of course Steve would still miss his mother. Well, if Steve couldn’t have his own mother, then Bucky would share his.

“How about we come for dinner next Sunday?”

Mrs. Barnes smiled. “Perfect. You can walk home with us after church. I’ll see you then.”

“You’re not staying for supper?” Bucky asked.

She shook her head. “Your father’s finally fixing that loose gutter. I want to get right back and make sure he hasn’t fallen off the ladder. It would be just like him to break his neck when I wasn’t home.”

After she left, Bucky climbed back onto the couch to finish hanging the picture, while Steve gathered up the pieces of newspaper that had been wrapped around the fragile things. He shoved the paper into a now-empty box. He glanced up, saw Bucky smiling at him, and grinned back. 

“I’ll take these down to the alley,” Bucky said, taking some of the empty boxes from Steve. There was still a small stack left to unpack, but they could wait. “Then I’m going to grab a shower.”

“You hungry? I could heat up the casserole your mom brought.”

After dinner Bucky gave into Steve’s insistence that he do the dishes. Once the table was clear, Bucky spread newspapers out and went to get his shoes. They needed a good polishing. As he reached the bedroom door he paused, turned back, and grabbed Steve’s good shoes too.

Steve was already at work at the sink. Bucky suppressed the urge to ask again if he could help and sat at the table to work on the shoes.

“We could use some pictures with color,” Steve said. “It would brighten up the place.”

Bucky looked up. Steve was leaning against the sink, dishtowel in hand, studying the drawings on the wall. Bucky shrugged. He thought they were just fine.

“I was thinking about trying watercolors. Last time I tried it was terrible—they ran all over the place—but that was years ago. I have more control now.”

Steve had taken an art class a couple of years before. It met every Wednesday night, and Bucky remembered that every Thursday Steve had been excited to tell him about what he’d learned.

Bucky touched one shoe, by the heel where a smudge wouldn’t show much, but the polish seemed to be dry. “Why don’t you try something else, some other kind of paint, if watercolors are too runny?”

“Watercolors are cheap. Relatively speaking.”

Bucky looked up from his shoes. Steve didn’t look upset, and he didn’t sound bitter at all, but it still bothered Bucky that Steve had to consider things like that.

“Someday we’ll be able to get you supplies. Or maybe you can even take another class.”

Steve looked at Bucky. “We?”

Bucky made a goofy face at him. “We’re in this together now, Rogers.”

That night Bucky fell into his bed, exhausted. After Steve turned out the light, he said, “You were right.”

Bucky answered without hesitation: “Of course I was right.” Then he paused. “Right about what?”

Steve laughed.

“Well, what do you expect?” Bucky teased. “I’m always right.”

“I meant about moving out of the old apartment. This is better.”

If they were closer, Bucky would have reached out to ruffle Steve’s hair or sling an arm around his neck. But even though there was only about two feet of space between their beds, he couldn’t quite reach Steve, not without it being awkward. So he stayed put. When he fell asleep a few minutes later, he slept better than he had in months.

*****

“What do you think?” Steve asked. He was standing in the middle of the floor with both arms stretched out, and he turned in a circle.

“Not bad,” Bucky answered.

“You mean you don’t think she’ll run screaming the minute she sees me?”

“Not if she’s got any sense. You look great.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky meant what he said. Steve dressed carefully when they went out on double dates—ironed his shirts and tied his tie over and over until it was knotted perfectly, even though Bucky knew Steve really would rather not go out at all. And Bucky didn’t think Steve was a bad looking guy. He had a strong jaw and clear blue eyes. Girls liked long eyelashes like that, didn’t they? Not that the eyelashes made Steve look like a girl. There wasn’t anything feminine about him, but because he was short and skinny, girls seemed to look right through him.

It was kind of funny really: Bucky’d always had good luck—a steady stream of girls since he first went all the way with Elizabeth Jenkins in high school, but no one ever lasted more than a few months. He knew how to charm girls. He liked flirting, taking a girl out dancing and showing her a good time, but he didn’t know what to do once he managed to make a girl really like him—when she might start to get serious about him. Not that it was just about sex—though Bucky obviously didn’t argue when a girl was willing—it was just that once the thrill of the chase was gone, it seemed like it wasn’t fun anymore. 

Steve, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so fickle. Bucky was sure of that. He was good and smart and steady. Once some girl was sharp enough to give him a chance—and lucky enough for Steve to fall for her—he would be loyal and considerate. He wouldn’t lose interest like some dumb kid. Like Bucky.

But Bucky was hopeful about his date for the evening. Her name was Dottie and she was gorgeous: a petite blonde with a raucous laugh. Bucky had seen her several times on the bus after work. After a few days in a row of encouraging smiles, Bucky had gotten off at her stop and asked if he could take her out for coffee. They’d had fun, talking for a couple of hours in a dingy diner. So he’d asked her out for a real date, and as soon as he’d asked, she’d promised to bring a friend for Steve. 

The second Dottie saw Bucky she smiled, but her smile dimmed when she saw Steve, and her friend Anne barely said a word throughout the entire walk to the dance hall.

Dottie wanted to dance, and she coaxed Bucky out onto the dance floor as soon as she could. She was a great dancer, and Bucky found it easy to make her laugh. He was having a ball until he looked over at Steve. He was sitting, head bowed, at the opposite end of the table from Anne, who stared at the dancers with a sour expression on her face.

Bucky had to almost shout into Dottie’s ear so she could hear him over the music. “Let’s get another round. I’m dying of thirst.”

She nodded and hung on Bucky’s hand as he led her back to the table.

“You kids having fun?” Bucky asked.

Steve didn’t look up, and Anne just frowned.

“I’m going up for more drinks. Why don’t you come help, Steve?”

Steve slid out of the booth and followed Bucky to the bar, hands shoved in his pockets.

“You want to get out of here?”

Steve shrugged. “You’re having fun.”

“How can I have fun with you sitting there moping?” “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry! I want you to have a little fun. Ask her to dance or something.”

“You know I can’t dance.”

“Look at this mob.” The dance floor was even more crowded than it had been when Bucky had first taken Dottie out less than an hour before. “You think anyone’s going to notice?”

Steve just shook his head and gave the bartender a handful of bills. As they took the glasses back to the table, Bucky tried to think up a polite excuse to leave early. If he played his cards right, he could get Steve home and still take Dottie out another night without dragging him along and making him miserable. It turned out that Bucky didn’t need to bother, because when they got back to the table, Anne and Dottie were standing up, their purses tucked under their arms.

“Anne’s not feeling well,” Dottie said.

Anne didn’t even bother to pretend to be sick. She walked briskly about fifteen feet in front of them the whole way back to the girls’ building, then let herself in the front door and disappeared without a word.

“I’m sorry,” Dottie said to Steve.

Steve shrugged. “I understand.”

Bucky had worried that Steve would be down on himself about this, but he seemed relieved that Anne was gone. Dottie gave Bucky a smile that was a clear invitation, and he took her up on it, kissing her, nice and slow. She sort of sighed and leaned into him, so Bucky wrapped his arms a little tighter around her waist.

She stood on tiptoe to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “Maybe we could try again sometime?”

Bucky was about to agree, but Dottie continued. “Next time without your _little friend_ , huh?”

Anger flared up in Bucky’s belly. Who did she think she was, talking about Steve like that? Bucky knew he wouldn’t take Dottie out ever again after that, but he said, “Sure thing, doll.” He kissed her again, and he knew he was a little too rough, but still she smiled at him before she climbed the front steps and went inside.

As Bucky turned, he caught Steve’s eye. He wouldn’t have thought that he would be too shy to have Steve watch him kiss a girl. But Steve turned his head away, clearly embarrassed, and Bucky felt his neck and cheeks glow hot.

*****

“But you’ve never waited tables before.”

“How hard can it be?” Bucky said. “People tell you what they want to eat, and you bring it to them.”

“You’ll be on your feet all day.”

“I already am. At least this way I’ll be going somewhere instead of standing in one place. Gil says he makes almost sixty bucks a week sometimes, when the tips are good. And I can still work at the cannery in the mornings and do a move here and there with Tom and his dad.”

“Yeah, cause you don’t need sleep, right?” Steve laughed, but he was looking at Bucky, clearly concerned. “And the restaurant is all the way downtown. How much of that sixty dollars will get used up in fares?”

Bucky shrugged. He had a good feeling about this, and there weren’t any swanky restaurants like this in Brooklyn. If Gil could make that much in a week, Bucky was willing to bet he himself could charm a heck of a lot more out of the snobs that ate at that place.

“You sure you want to work at night?” Steve teased. “You’ll have to give up girls for a while.”

“I won’t be working _every_ night,” Bucky said. “Besides, maybe it’s time I leave a few for the other guys.”

Steve shook his head, but as he bent over his sketchbook, he was smiling.

*****

Bucky’s second shift waiting tables at the restaurant, he met Eileen. She worked as the hostess at the little desk by the door of the restaurant. She flirted with the businessmen who came in for lunch and was sweet and respectful when those same men came back with their wives for dinner.

Eileen was stunning. Her hair was always styled in perfect auburn curls, her lipstick just on the right side of too bright. She didn’t dress sexy, not really. She barely showed any skin at all. It was the way her clothes fit her—skirts hugging the generous flare of her hips, blouses tailored to nip in at her waist, making it impossible not to notice the tempting curve of her breasts.

Bucky was still gaping at her when she gave him a smile and raised one eyebrow at him in an unspoken question. He grinned back at her and approached.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Of course you are,” she answered.

It made no sense, but he laughed anyway.

“You got any plans after closing tonight?”

“Always.”

“Well, if they fall through, come find me.”

Gil, who was showing Bucky the ropes, grabbed his arm. “We open in less than half an hour. I’m supposed to teach you how to fold napkins.”

“Fold away,” Bucky said. He let Gil drag him away, but he watched Eileen over his shoulder. She smiled at him until Gil pulled him into the back.

Bucky earned enough tips his first week to treat Steve to a movie after Sunday dinner with his folks. He quickly learned when to turn on the charm and when to give diners a little privacy. He was efficient without being fussy, and the boss seemed to like him.

He and Steve saved their rent money in Mrs. Rogers’s teapot, high on a shelf in the kitchen. Bucky kept his emergency fund separate, in a sock in his drawer. If Steve knew about it, he probably wouldn’t like the idea of Bucky saving just for him. But how else would they pay the rent if Steve got sick and couldn’t work for a while? What if he needed to see a doctor? Or pay for medicine?

Juggling three jobs, Bucky was always running, and he knew he couldn’t keep it up forever. He’d have to give up at least one of his shifts before too long. But every time he added a few more bills to that sock in his drawer, it felt like safety.

*****

“Nice work, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky turned his head carefully. He was carrying a tray laden with five full dinners. The restaurant’s heavy china, including countless little bowls for side dishes, made lifting and toting all of it no small feat. Eileen was on her way back to her hostess desk after seating a large party in the side room. She winked at Bucky as she passed, and he grinned.

“When are you going to let me take you dancing, Eileen?”

She didn’t answer—only smiled, but she put a little extra swing in her hips, as if she knew he was watching her walk away.

Gil went by with a water jug, the ice tinkling as he walked. “Give it up, Barnes,” he said under his breath. “She doesn’t date anyone at work.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Bucky answered cheerfully.

“Your entrees are getting cold,” Gil said, then zipped away to refill water glasses.

Bucky rushed to his table. He didn’t know the customer’s name, but he was a regular, and he clearly liked Bucky. Flirting with Eileen paid off: even if she never went out with him, she seated the big tippers in his section.

Once Bucky ditched the tray, he took orders from another table and headed for the kitchen. Gil was there, filling a tray.

“You know Jack?” Gil asked, jerking his thumb at a tall, skinny guy with a shock of thick black hair waiting for his orders at the counter.

Bucky nodded at Jack. “Bucky Barnes.”

Jack smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I really don’t know why you’re bothering with Eileen,” Gil said. “I’m telling you, she has never, ever gone out with one of the waiters.”

“Oh no,” Jack chimed in. “Have we lost another one to Eileen’s elusive charms?”

Bucky laughed. Gil finished loading his tray and headed out to the dining room.

“It happens to every new guy,” Jack continued. “One look at her and they spend the next three months mooning over her until they realize she’s untouchable.”

“I don’t care,” Bucky said. “She’s a beautiful dame, and a little flirting makes the time pass.” 

*****

Walking to work from the bus stop late one Saturday morning, Bucky stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and was surprised when his fingers closed on a thick fold of one dollar bills: his tips from the night before. The restaurant had been busier than Bucky had ever seen it, even for a Friday, and Eileen had seated several bigwigs at Bucky’s tables. He hadn’t even counted his money—just fallen into bed when he’d gotten home.

Bucky glanced around him. The street was mostly empty, so he pulled out the wad of cash and quickly flipped through it. He had almost twenty dollars.

Bucky felt a strange disbelief. This month’s rent was paid. Next month’s was already safely tucked away in the teapot. Bucky had given Steve Thursday night’s tips to buy groceries—he’d argued, of course, always wanting to contribute his fair share, but he wouldn’t get paid until the end of the month—and Bucky’s secret stash was now hidden in two different socks in his dresser drawer.

He’d never felt so rich. He could actually spend a little money, for fun, and not even feel guilty or worried about needing it somewhere down the line. He strolled slowly down the sidewalk, thinking about what twenty dollars could buy. He could use a new pair of shoes. Or maybe a new suit. New to him anyway—he knew a shop that had decent secondhand clothes. But the more he thought about it, the more he talked himself out of spending the money frivolously. It would be like giving up an extra safety net. He’d put the cash in his drawer with the rest.

Then Bucky strolled past a store that sold art supplies. He’d seen it before and wondered if Steve would be interested, but he’d never given it more than a passing thought. But he’d noticed that Steve was doubling up his drawings, using every available bit of space because his sketchbook had no more blank pages. Maybe it would be okay to spend just a little of the money.

“Can I help you?” The salesgirl was petite with curly brown hair and a smattering of freckles over her nose.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m looking for good quality paper. It’s not for me. It’s for a friend, so I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She smiled pleasantly. “What medium?”

“Uh . . .”

“Charcoal? Watercolors?”

She gestured at a shelf that held little trays with squares of color that even Bucky recognized as watercolor paints. He remembered Steve talking about wanting to try them again, but there were too many kinds to choose from, and Steve would probably want to pick his own.

“Oh, just pencils. Thank you.”

He followed her and watched as she pulled a thick stack of paper off a shelf. “Do you want individual sheets? Or bound?”

“Sorry, yeah. Yes, in a book, please.”

She handed him a book much like the one Steve had, and Bucky turned it over in his hands.

“Or there’s this one. It’s two dollars more though.”

Bucky could tell that the second book was much better. The paper was thick, and the cover was sturdy, so Steve could draw anywhere. The one he had now had a flimsy cardboard cover so that he had to sit at the table or put a book on his lap for support.

“That’s more like it.”

She cocked her head to one side. “It’s for your sweetheart, isn’t it?”

Bucky laughed.

“Oh, I see the way you’re smiling,” she continued. She turned and led the way back to the front counter. “That’s so thoughtful. Most men just get flowers or candy, but for the right girl, this is so much better.”

Bucky shook his head and laughed again.

Late that night, when Bucky got home from the restaurant, he handed the sketchbook, neatly wrapped in brown paper, to Steve without a word.

“What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

Steve didn’t say a word when he ripped off the paper, but his smile spoke volumes. “There’s an art store near the restaurant. I know your old book was getting filled up.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

Bucky tugged at his tie. “The girl at the shop thought I was buying it for a dame.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she said I must be getting it for my sweetheart.” Bucky laughed and hung up his jacket. “I was smiling or something.”

Steve didn’t answer, and when Bucky turned to look at him, he had a strange expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” Something in Bucky sank. “Aw, you don’t like it? Is it the wrong kind?”

“No!” Steve said immediately. “No, no, it’s perfect.”

“Cause she’d probably let me exchange it if it’s not right.”

“No, Buck, I love it. Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky repeated.

“Really. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

After a quick grin, Steve flipped open the cover and reached for a pencil. “You gonna draw something right now?” Bucky asked. “It’s after eleven.”

Steve was already dragging the sharpened point of the pencil across the first page in the book. “Oh, wow,” he said, his voice low. “This is fantastic. Thanks, Buck, really.”

“All right, already. You already thanked me. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine how much better the paper could be than any other. How could it make such a difference? Why would _paper_ make Steve’s voice sound all excited and whispery like that? But if Steve was happy, that was all that mattered.

Bucky toed off his shoes and kicked them under his bed. When he looked up, Steve was watching him.

“What?”

“I want to draw you.”

“Aw, come on, Steve. I don’t want to just sit there while you—”

“You don’t have to just sit. Here.” Steve threw a newspaper onto the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit. You can read the funnies.”

Bucky sighed. “I can read the news too, you know.” But he did as he was told, throwing himself into the chair and picking up the paper. He read the front page just to make a point, but Steve wasn’t paying any attention to that. His eyes were moving back and forth between his drawing and Bucky’s face. Sometimes he moved the pencil on the page when he wasn’t even looking at it—Bucky didn’t understand how he could do that.

It was a little unnerving, having Steve watching him so closely. “Hey, toss me one of those pencils, will you? I’ll do the crossword.”

Steve worked on his drawing for a long time, answering only distractedly when Bucky asked for help with a crossword clue here and there.

“It’s late,” Bucky said after a glance at the clock.

“Hm?” Steve was holding the pencil kind of sideways, and Bucky knew that meant he was finishing up, working on adding shading.

“You planning on getting up for church tomorrow?”

Steve’s hand stopped moving, but he didn’t look up from the page. “Maybe not. I’m really tired.”

“You getting sick?” Bucky immediately rose from his chair and crossed over to Steve, who shoved his hand away when he tried to feel his forehead.

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

*****

“Does anyone actually _use_ all of this?” Bucky asked. He held up a strange little fork with a notch cut out of one tine.

“That one’s for fish,” Jack explained. “And yes, Barnes, people far more sophisticated than you’ll ever be use all the silverware.”

“Come on, a fork is a fork.”

“Why does that sound dirty when you say it?”

Bucky laughed and gave Jack’s shoulder a little shove with his own.

“Wait,” Jack said. “You’ve got the plates too far away from the edge. Move them closer—only about an inch between the edge of the plate and the edge of the table.”

“But then I’ll have to move everything else too,” Bucky complained. He’d only worked the lunch shift once before, and he hadn’t helped much with setting the tables.

“You’ve got to learn to do it right,” Jack insisted. “With that ugly mug, you can’t get by on looks alone.”

“Ha, ha,” Bucky said, deadpan. He pushed out a chair, plopped into it, and propped his chin on his hand. “Why should I learn when you do it so well?”

Jack looked over with raised eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re going to start sharing your tips with me then?”

“All right, all right.” Bucky stood up and started shifting his place settings closer to the table’s edge. 

Jack picked up a spotty glass and polished it with a spare napkin. “So, any luck with Eileen yet?”

Bucky shook his head.

“You giving up?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’m persistent.”

“Well, until you wear her down, want to come out with us? Gil and some of the other guys were talking about shooting some pool after closing. You interested?”

Bucky was planning to meet Steve for a movie after work—it had been a while since he’d gotten off work early enough off to do something fun. He shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve got plans.”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe another time.”

“Yeah, sure.”

When Bucky got to the theater, Steve was waiting out front, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He looked up, saw Bucky, and grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him over to the line at the ticket booth. They looked up at the marquee: _Angels with Dirty Faces_. “This is the movie Tom and Gil were raving about? Kind of a stupid name. I hope it’s better than it sounds.”

Steve just shrugged. “Do you want popcorn?”

The film was pretty good: Cagney played a sort of dark hero, a gangster who wasn’t reformed, exactly, but who did the right thing in the end at the urging of his childhood friend, who was now the neighborhood priest. Every time Bucky glanced over and grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the bag, Steve was staring at the screen, completely engrossed.

Afterwards, they walked slowly home. It was nice not to be rushing off somewhere. These days Bucky always felt like he was in danger of being late for something.

“Do you really think he would do that?” Steve asked. “Cagney, I mean. Acting like a big old chicken?”

Bucky thought about Cagney’s character: fearless and brash, but playing the coward. “His buddy asked him to.”

Steve turned his head to look at Bucky, a small grin on his face. “Would you do it if I asked you to? If you were in his place?”

Bucky almost said yes. He didn’t even have to think about it. But he didn’t want to be serious when Steve was smiling like that, when this was the first time in a week they’d seen each other without Bucky being dead on his feet. “C’mon, I wouldn’t ever be in his place. I can run faster than you. You’d be the one going to jail while I got away.”

Steve laughed. “You’d never make it as a priest though.”

“No,” Bucky answered. “No, I wouldn’t.” Steve would be the priest—he was too good to be true.

“You’re not as bad as Cagney though.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Bucky reached out to cuff Steve’s shoulder, but he shied away with a sly laugh, darting ahead. Bucky ran to catch up and yoked him with one arm around his neck. Two girls passed by, smiling, obviously amused by Bucky and Steve’s horsing around.

But Bucky didn’t care if they laughed at him. He gave them a big cheesy grin. “Evening, ladies.”

They giggled, and Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re such a flirt.”

Bucky just laughed. 

*****

“It’s the third week in a row,” Mrs. Barnes said.

“I know, Ma. I’m sorry.” Bucky looked down at his rapidly cooling Sunday dinner. He was starving, but he knew he shouldn’t start eating until his mother was done scolding him.

Mr. Barnes gave her a pointed look. “I’m sure the boys have a good reason for missing church.”

“It’s my fault,” Steve said. “I was feeling a little under the weather, so Bucky stayed home with me. I was afraid the cold air would be bad for my cough.”

Mrs. Barnes ladled more gravy over Steve’s potatoes. “Are you feeling better now, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You do need to take care of yourself.”

“I will, ma’am.”

She smiled, seemingly satisfied, but Bucky watched Steve as he picked up his knife and fork. He was a terrible liar, and Bucky could see now that he was lying through his teeth. The night before, however, when Bucky had started to set the alarm, Steve had seemed perfectly sincere when he’d said he hadn’t felt up to going to mass.

Bucky waited until they were walking home to confront Steve about it. He didn’t give him any time to come up with a story, just grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and spun him around. “What’s going on? Why are you making excuses to miss church?”

Steve looked sheepish, but he seemed to decide pretty quickly that it wasn’t worth hedging. “You work too much. You’re barely home, and you never sleep. I figure if we stayed home on Sunday mornings, you’ll at least catch up a little.”

Bucky felt stupid that it had taken him three weeks before he got suspicious. He started walking again, and Steve fell in step beside him.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, Buck. You’ve lost weight.”

That was true. Just the week before Bucky’s trousers had been hanging off his hips, so he’d had to tighten his belt more than usual. He hadn’t thought it was noticeable.

“We’re doing fine, right?” Steve said. “We’ve got next month’s rent already, plus a little extra. Don’t you think you could take it easy? Just a little?”

Bucky thought about the two well-stuffed socks in his dresser. Steve was right—they were doing fine. “All right,” Bucky said, nudging Steve’s shoulder. “How about I tell Tom’s dad that I can’t help out with the moving business anymore?”

“You’re only doing that a couple of times a month.”

“I know, but it means I’ll always get to sleep in on Saturdays. I never have to be at the restaurant until three.”

Steve didn’t answer.

“Hey, you don’t actually get to decide how much I work, you know,” Bucky pointed out. He caught a glimpse of a frown before Steve turned his face away. Bucky crowded close and draped his arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Well,” Bucky continued. “I guess I can give up a few extra bucks if it’s for the sake of your immortal soul.”

Steve looked at Bucky and grinned. “Or at least to make your mother happy.”

*****

“Hey, Barnes, you in here?”

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

Jack appeared in the door of the back room, catching Bucky in his undershirt with his trousers hanging open.

“Whoa, sorry,” Jack said, starting to back out.

“No, come on in. Sorry—I just hate going home in that uniform.”

Jack came to lean against the stock shelves, staring at his shoes. It made Bucky feel awkward—maybe it was against the rules to change in the back room, but no one had ever noticed him doing it before. He shoved his shirt tail into his pants and fumbled with his belt.

“I didn’t think you’d left yet,” Jack said. “A bunch of us are going out for beers. Wanna come along?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

“Good.” Jack finally met Bucky’s gaze. “Great. We’ll be out front.”

“Meet you there,” Bucky answered.

Jack slipped out as Bucky pulled his tie out of his jacket pocket.

“Bucky!” Eileen peeked around the doorframe. “I thought you were off today.”

“Filling in for Gil. What’re you doing here? You weren’t on the schedule either.”

“Just picking up my check.”

Bucky shrugged on his jacket.

“So. An extra shift,” Eileen said with a sly smile. “What’re you going to do with all that extra money?”

He lifted his chin to knot his tie. “I’ll use it to wine you and dine you, if you’ll just say yes for once.” 

“Yes.”

Bucky looked at her in surprise. “Yes? Really?”

She laughed. “Don’t you want to go? You’ve been asking for weeks, and I’m free tonight.”

“Of course I want to go, but all the guys said—”

She stepped close and reached up to tug at his tie, straightening it. “You been listening to gossip about me?”

Bucky could tell there was a serious question behind her playful tone.

“You know how it is. People talk. I don’t pay any attention. They told me to give up with you, but I knew you were worth the effort.”

She smiled again, and something relaxed in her shoulders. “So where’re we going?”

Bucky suddenly remembered Jack waiting for him out front, but he knew he couldn’t just invite her along. He probably shouldn’t even tell anyone about this date, not after she’d made such a stink about not dating any of the waiters.

“Just give me just a minute. Do you mind? I’ll finish getting cleaned up, and then I’ll take you someplace nice.”

Bucky dashed outside, running smack into Jack, who was standing right outside the door, almost knocking him off his feet. 

“Oh, hey.” Bucky grabbed Jack by both arms to steady him. “Sorry about that.”

Past Jack, Bucky could see two of the other waiters and one of the guys who worked in the kitchen. They were standing down by the corner. One of them laughed loudly. Jack glanced over his shoulder at the others, then turned back to Bucky, grinning. “Ready? Where’s your coat?”

“Sorry, buddy, I just remembered somewhere I gotta be.”

“Oh.” The smile fell off Jack’s face.

Bucky suddenly felt guilty for backing out—he wished he could explain about Eileen. Jack would understand if he knew.

He clapped one hand on Jack’s shoulder, then took a step back toward the door. “Next time, okay?”

“Sure. Next time.”

Jack strode away quickly. He seemed a little miffed, but Bucky wasn’t going to let it bug him. He probably would have had fun with those guys, but compared to a chance with Eileen?

Bucky took her dancing at a place around the corner. He cringed a little at the prices when he bought her a drink: he wasn’t used to going out in Manhattan. But Eileen was a good dancer and obviously ready to have fun. They stayed until almost midnight. When they stepped outside, the cool evening air was refreshing after the stuffiness of the club. Eileen slipped her hand into the crook of Bucky’s elbow.

“My bus stop is on the corner. It’s not far to my building, but I don’t like walking by myself at night.”

Bucky wondered how she could afford a place in this neighborhood. Maybe she had rich parents. “What kind of guy do you think I am? I was going to walk you home.”

She squeezed Bucky’s arm and leaned closer. “You’re a good guy, Bucky Barnes.”

“My mother raised a gentleman.”

Eileen laughed. “Not too much of a gentleman to give a girl a kiss, I hope?”

Bucky stopped walking and looked at her. She came close and tilted her face up to his. The first kiss was awkward, and he pulled away with his mouth full of the waxy taste of her lipstick, but she smiled, so he tried again.

With the second kiss, Eileen pressed closer, her hips pushing into Bucky’s. Her arms slid around his neck, and she gave out a little sigh. The sound went straight to his groin.

He took a step backward. “You’d better cool it, or I won’t be able to stay a gentleman.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Eileen said. She put her hand on her hip and let out a hiss of air. “I’m throwing myself at you. Do you want to come upstairs with me or not?”

She didn’t even turn on a light. The second they got into the apartment, she grabbed Bucky and pushed up close again. He kissed her once, but before he could settle into it, she yanked on his arm, pulling him onto the couch with her. Bucky reached out to find her face in the dark, leaning close for another kiss, but before he had the chance, her hand was on his hip, moving over to work at his belt buckle.

Bucky was surprised by how fast they were moving. Eileen had seemed like such a good girl. Sure, she was a flirt, but he hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t about to say no, though—not with her tugging at his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He kissed her while he fumbled in the darkness until he found her knee and slid his hand slowly up her thigh. Her stockings were soft under his fingers, but when he reached her garters and found bare flesh, it was even softer. He skimmed his thumb over her skin until his knuckles brushed against her silky panties, and she moaned.

Bucky pulled away from the kiss. “All right?”

“Shhhhh,” she said, laughing. Then she whispered in Bucky’s ear: “My roommate’s here. She’ll go crazy if she finds out.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Bucky whispered back.

She giggled, threaded her fingers through Bucky’s hair, and pulled him in for another kiss. She wasn’t the best he’d had, sometimes too eager and sometimes giving slack, lazy kisses that made him long to grab hold of her and tip her into kissing the way he wanted. He turned his head to kiss her jaw while he stroked over her panties a little harder, feeling the dampness spread against his fingertips.

Eileen groped inside his boxers and wrapped her hand around his dick. It was a little too tight for starting out, but he was so wound up it didn’t seem to matter. He stifled a groan and pressed a little harder against the silky fabric under his fingertips. Eileen moved her hips up against Bucky’s hand, so he pushed his luck, sliding his fingers inside her panties. She gave out a quiet, little moan, and her hand tightened in his hair, pulling hard.

“Yes,” she gasped.

It made Bucky braver, and he laughed to himself—maybe he’d just been wrong when he’d thought that she was a good girl. He wriggled his hand to get a better angle, and he found that she was soaking wet for him, his fingers slipping easily against her hot skin.

He pushed two fingers inside her, and she gasped again, then kissed him, hard. He moved his fingers slowly in and out, planting a line of kisses down her neck. He wanted to unbutton her blouse, but he needed his right arm to hold himself up, and even if he wanted to move his left hand out from under her skirt, he wouldn’t touch her fancy blouse with his slick fingers. Never mind, this was good—more than good. He rubbed his thumb against the outside of her, and she moaned quietly, her hips twitching up to meet his hand.

She panted out his name, and he lifted his head to kiss her again, pushing his tongue between her lips. Her hand was still in his pants, but she wasn’t doing much of anything—probably a good thing, since the slightest touch was likely to make him come, hearing the sounds she was making. It made him feel kind of proud that he could distract her so much that she forgot was she was doing.

Eileen was tensing up now, her breath coming with squeaky little gasps. Bucky pulled his fingers almost all the way out, then slid them back in again, adding a third finger. Everything was wet and slick. Bucky’s heart was pounding.

“C’mon, baby,” Bucky whispered in her ear. He gave her earlobe a gentle nip, and she laughed breathlessly. The skin on her neck was heated under Bucky’s lips.

Bucky wanted to keep going, desperately wanted to make her come, but his wrist was getting tired. He twisted his hand, hoping a different angle would make it easier, and whatever it did, Eileen clearly liked it. Her fingers were nearly tearing out Bucky’s hair. Her entire body grew taut, her back arching up off the couch. She cried out, and he could feel her muscles clenching around his fingers. She gave out one final, whining moan, then collapsed limp on the cushions.

Bucky kissed her gently. She sighed happily but didn’t move. He sat up, pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, and quickly wiped his hand. When he leaned down to kiss her again, she seemed to remember that Bucky was still sitting there, hard as a rock. She giggled and pushed her hand back into his boxers.

The light snapped on. An angry voice spoke loudly: “What on earth are you doing?”

Eileen let out a yelp as Bucky scrabbled blindly to close up his pants. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a blonde girl who must be Eileen’s roommate, wearing a bathrobe and frowning, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Eileen, you promised! No more boys in the apartment.”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Eileen lied.

Bucky couldn’t keep a snort of laughter from escaping. The girl glared at him, but Eileen put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile.

“Go back to bed, Carrie,” Eileen said. “Everything’s fine. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She gave Bucky one more fierce look before turning on her heel and slamming the bedroom door.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky took Eileen’s hand.

“But you didn’t . . .”

“It’s all right, doll. Maybe next time.”

“How about Tuesday? After work? I get off at seven.”

“You’re making a date to stick your hand in my shorts?”

Eileen looked hurt.

“C’mon, I’m joking,” Bucky said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll take you to dinner. Tuesday after work. Wear something pretty.”

*****

Bucky had to drag himself out of bed the next morning. By the time he’d gotten home, showered, and fallen into bed, he’d only had a few hours of sleep before his alarm. He managed to get to the cannery on time and work his shift without doing anything too stupid, but he was still a little dazed by the time he made his way to the restaurant.

He splashed some cold water on his face to wake himself up. As he was struggling to get his bow tie straight, Jack came into the back room. Bucky greeted him, but where he usually had a joke for Bucky, now he only nodded coolly.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it last night,” Bucky said as he followed Jack out to the dining room.

Jack shot him a funny look. “That’s okay.”

“Hi, Bucky.” It was Eileen.

Bucky found himself grinning at her stupidly. “Hi.”

“See you later,” Eileen said. Then she turned and went to tidy up her desk.

Bucky didn’t even realize he was still staring until Jack stepped close and whispered, “You got Eileen to go out with you, didn’t you? Is that where you went last night?”

Jack was a little too interested in how things were going with Eileen. It occurred to Bucky that Jack might be sweet on her himself, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

Bucky took a quick look around to make sure no one was listening. “Don’t tell anyone, all right? She doesn’t want people talking about her.”

“I gotta hand it to you.” Jack gave Bucky’s shoulder a light punch. “I didn’t think you’d manage it.”

“Yeah, well,” said Bucky. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

*****

Bucky got sick first. It was a miserable flu. He felt weak and feverish and couldn’t stop coughing. He couldn’t go to work—couldn’t do anything other than curl up in bed.

As terrible as he felt, the physical discomfort was nothing compared with the worry, because Steve was bound to catch this. But for Steve, it wouldn’t mean a few miserable days in bed, it would be the beginning of a long winter when he could never breathe without a wheeze or a cough.

“I should go home,” Bucky said. “Let Ma take care of me.”

“You’ll only get your parents sick,” Steve pointed out. “You don’t want that.”

“Well, I don’t want to get you sick either.”

Steve smiled. “I’m already doomed.”

Bucky tried to laugh at Steve’s words, but they hit a little too close for comfort. Still, Steve didn’t have to work too hard to talk him into staying—Bucky barely had enough energy to roll over, much less walk several blocks.

Right on schedule, just as Bucky was feeling up to dragging himself out of bed, Steve starting coughing. He tried to duck out from under Bucky’s hand when he reached out to test his forehead for fever, but Bucky grabbed him and held him fast.

“Lay off, Buck. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re burning up. When did you start feeling bad?”

Steve gave him a pained look, but Bucky pushed him down onto his bed and starting making plans. 

“Where’s the aspirin?”

Steve sighed. “We’re all out.”

“I’ll run out for more. You get in bed.”

“I’m fine. You can barely stand yourself. I’ll go.”

“Shut up and get in bed. I’m going.”

As Bucky left the building, he held the door open for Mrs. Czosky, who lived in 2B.

“So you’re better now! Steven tells me you don’t feel so good.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m much better, but now Steve’s getting sick.”

She frowned in concern, which only made Bucky’s own worry rachet up a few notches.

“I bring some soup for him. Helps with the cough.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate that.”

She was already climbing the stairs to her apartment, waving over her shoulder.

When Bucky got back from the drugstore, Steve was still dressed, but his face was white, and he was shivering. He didn’t argue when Bucky told him again to get in bed, which was worrisome in itself, but he dutifully downed the aspirin and half the glass of water Bucky brought him before collapsing onto his pillow. He soon fell into a restless sleep.

Bucky wished he could send for the doctor, but there wasn’t much point. He knew what he needed to do: just keep the fever from getting too high. So set up his arsenal on the little nightstand between their bed: a bowl of water and clean rags to dip in it, plenty of aspirin, and a few bottles of Coca Cola—sometimes Steve would drink that once he got sick of endless glasses of water.

Mrs. Czosky knocked on the door, shook her head sadly over Steve, and set her pot of soup on the stove to keep warm. “You come get me if he gets worse, yes?”

Bucky knew he wouldn’t. Steve wouldn’t like it. But Bucky nodded and thanked her. Once she left, he sat on his bed and leaned against the wall. He watched Steve sleep, wishing Mrs. Rogers was still around to take care of him.

*****

Steve woke around midnight, shivering. Bucky rested his palm on Steve’s forehead. He hadn’t thought the fever could get any higher, but Steve’s skin was blazing, and his hair was sticking to his forehead. Fighting off panic, Bucky pulled the covers away. Steve’s pajamas were damp with sweat.

After grabbing a clean pair of pajamas from Steve’s dresser, Bucky shook him awake. “Come on, buddy. We gotta get you out of these wet things.”

Steve groaned and tried to burrow back under his blankets.

“Steve, c’mon.”

Steve didn’t respond. Bucky decided to try physically lifting him to sit up. Steve squirmed in Bucky’s grip, almost delirious. Bucky held Steve up with one arm while he struggled to undo Steve’s buttons with the other hand.

“Don’t, Buck,” Steve murmured.

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky whispered. “We’ve gotta get you dry so you stop shivering.”

Bucky managed to get the pajama shirt off, then reached for a rag, dunked it in the bowl of water, and tried to dab at Steve’s face and neck.

“Don’t,” Steve whined. “It’s cold.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “Sorry, Stevie. Just a little bit longer.”

Steve shivered under Bucky’s hands. His skin was so hot, the water evaporated almost immediately. At least Bucky didn’t have to figure out a way to dry him off. He pushed Steve’s arms into the clean pajama top and reached for the buttons at his waistband.

“No,” Steve said, his voice clearer than it had been since he woke up.

Bucky knew Steve didn’t like getting undressed in front of anyone, but Bucky would worry about Steve’s injured modesty later, when he wasn’t burning up from the inside. Bucky tried again to reach the button on Steve’s pants, but Steve pushed his hand away.

“I’ll do it.”

Bucky gave an exasperated sigh. “You can barely move except for shivering. Will you let me help?”

Steve didn’t answer. He glared at Bucky, then slowly slid his leg to the edge of the bed and let his foot fall to the floor. He sat up on his own, moving away from Bucky’s supporting arm. After swinging his other leg off the bed, he stood shakily. Bucky handed him the wet rag. He stayed close in case Steve got dizzy, but turned his head to give at least the illusion of privacy while he washed and finished changing.

Once Steve was clean and dry, he fell right back onto his bed. It occurred to Bucky that the sheets should be changed too, but Steve was sound asleep the second his head hit the pillow. The covers didn’t feel damp, so Bucky pulled them up to Steve’s ear.

He should have made Steve try to swallow a little bit of soup, or at least drink a few sips of water. Was it time for more aspirin yet? Bucky should have written down when he’d given it to him earlier, because it seemed like a long time, but the hours were dragging. He didn’t want to give Steve too much. Maybe Steve would remember. He tried to wake Steve up again, figuring he wouldn’t be very soundly asleep yet, but it took several minutes for Bucky to rouse him, and when he opened his eyes, he didn’t seem to see Bucky.

Steve mumbled something that sounded like, “Not ‘til tomorrow.”

“What’s that?” Bucky coaxed, resting his hand on top of Steve’s head. “C’mon, Stevie, wake up for me. You gotta drink something.” Bucky shoved his arm under Steve’s shoulder and lifted him up again. Bucky held the water glass to his lips. Steve still didn’t open his eyes, but he took a few gulps.

Bucky collapsed on his own bed, holding his head in his hands. Mrs. Rogers had always said you couldn’t let a fever get too high. But what more could he do? And what happened if the fever got too high? He imagined Steve’s brain boiling in his skull. Should they head for the hospital?

Bucky mopped at Steve’s face with wet rags and forced him to drink water whenever he could. Steve seemed trapped, never quite sleeping but unable to wake up. He talked nonsense and shrank away from Bucky’s hands and the cold cloths.

Just before dawn Bucky woke up in a panic—he had drifted off still sitting upright, his head lolling on his arm where it rested on the footboard of Steve’s bed. He reached for Steve’s forehead almost reflexively, and though it was still hot, it wasn’t the raging fever that had tormented him for most of the night.

Bucky’s knees went weak with relief. He sank back onto the bed, and the movement roused Steve. He opened his eyes, just a sliver, and looked at Bucky. He looked exhausted and grumpy, but it was _him_ in there, not the uncooperative child the fever had turned him into. His brain wasn’t boiled.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“S’okay.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Steve’s eyes closed again.

Bucky jumped up. “Wait! Before you go back to sleep, drink a little something, okay?”

Steve groaned, but he let Bucky lift him up, swallowed a couple of aspirin, and emptied the water glass. He sighed and Bucky lowered him back onto the mattress.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky answered, but Steve was already asleep.

Bucky fell onto his own bed and was dead to the world until a knock woke him up hours later. He dragged himself out of bed, and his hand was on the doorknob before he realized how he must look: he’d slept in his clothes, he hadn’t shaved in days, and his hair must be a mess from yanking on it all night, worrying over Steve.

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder. Steve was still asleep. Maybe whoever it was would just go away. But a voice called through the door: “Bucky?”

It was his mother. He fumbled with the lock, tore open the door, and threw himself at Mrs. Barnes before he realized she was carrying a big box. He took it from her and dropped it on the table, and by the time he’d turned back around she was there, wrapping her arms around him. It was almost enough to push Bucky over the brink into tears.

She hugged him tight and ran a hand over his tangled hair. “I saw Mrs. Czosky at the post office. How is he?”

Before Bucky could squeeze an answer past the lump in his throat, she pulled away and walked over to rest her hand gently on Steve’s forehead. Bucky wanted to tell her not to touch Steve, not to wake him up, but she was gentle. Steve didn’t stir in the slightest.

“He still has a fever,” she said quietly.

“He’s much better than he was.”

She turned to look at Bucky, frowning, then she gently pushed him into a chair at the kitchen table. She pulled pots and covered dishes out of the box she’d been carrying and set to work. She ladled up a bowl of stew, buttered bread, poured milk, and cut a generous piece of cherry pie. Bucky ate it all like a starving man, then downed another glass of milk and a second serving of pie for good measure.

Mrs. Barnes gathered all the damp rags and dirty clothes in the place and washed the dishes that had piled up in the sink. She changed the sheets on Bucky’s bed and put the dirty ones with the other laundry. Once Bucky had finished eating, he stayed in his chair in a stupor, watching her work until the room was tidy.

When she looked over at Steve, Bucky stood up and crossed the room to stand next to his bed.

“We should change the sheets,” she suggested. “And get him in fresh pajamas.”

Bucky hesitated. “I hate to wake him. He barely slept. When he wakes up later, I’ll help him wash up and get him to move to my bed.”

She reached out to smooth Bucky’s hair. “Does that mean you were up all night too?”

“I’m fine.”

She cupped his cheek in her palm, then kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a good man.” She picked up her purse from the table, and Bucky felt panic rising again.

“You’re going?”

“I’m going to take the laundry home. After I’ve had a chance to wash everything, I’ll come back and bring some more food.”

Bucky was torn as he watched her leave. Part of him wanted her to stay—he wasn’t sure he could handle being responsible for nursing Steve back to health—but he also knew that Steve would rather not have anyone else around.

When Steve woke up he looked around the tidy room. “What happened in here?”

“Ma happened.”

Steve made a face, and Bucky knew what he was thinking. “Yeah, we all know you’re fine on your own, but she wasn’t helping _you_ , she was helping me, okay? So shut up.”

Steve gave a weak smile. “Are you eating pie?”

“Yeah, cherry. Ma brought it. Want some?”

Steve nodded and tried to push himself up. Bucky cut a slice quickly so that he could get to Steve’s side before he sat up completely on his own. Bucky set the plate on the quilt, then tugged Steve into a mostly upright position, ignoring the worry that flooded into his mind when Steve didn’t complain at the help. Steve ate his entire slice of pie before falling back onto the pillows as if the act had exhausted him.

“Want something else? Ma brought beef stew too. It’s really good.”

Steve nodded without opening his eyes. Bucky dished up Steve’s meal in a coffee mug, thinking it would be easier for him to manage than a bowl. He scraped the cup clean and ate half of another piece of pie. Bucky tried not to beam at him like it was some kind of accomplishment.

“How about we get you cleaned up?”

“I’m tired, Buck.”

“Yeah? But you’re going to start stinking soon. C’mon, I’ll help.”

As Bucky’d hoped, the offer of help was enough to goad Steve into doing it himself. He undressed—without any seeming shyness, Bucky noticed—washed, and put on clean pajamas. He settled himself on Bucky’s bed with a book so that Bucky could change his sheets, but by the time Bucky’d finished, Steve was sound asleep with the book falling on his face. Bucky didn’t have the heart to make him move, so he carefully took the book, set it aside, and turned out the lamp, leaving Steve to nap.

Bucky picked up Steve’s lunch dishes. Rather than let Mrs. Barnes’s pie go to waste, he finished Steve’s half-eaten slice as he watched him sleep. He probably should have done the dishes right away, after all the work his mother had done to get the place cleaned up, but he figured he needed washing more than the dishes.

He took a lightning-fast shower, rushing back into the room to check on Steve, who was still sleeping soundly. He had some color in his face: healthy color, not the mottled flush of fever. Bucky allowed himself to check Steve’s forehead one last time before giving in to exhaustion. Then Bucky sank onto Steve’s bed, clean, fed, and sure that the worst was over.

But Bucky was wrong. The next night was much, much worse. He wouldn’t have thought it would be possible, but even when the fever had made Steve delirious, Bucky had had something to _do_. Once Steve started coughing, Bucky could only sit there and watch.

He was awakened from his nap by a few loud coughs. He was instantly awake and alert.

“I’m okay,” Steve said sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t—.” But a second bout of coughing interrupted him. He fell back onto his pillow, gasping. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bucky sat up and handed Steve a fresh glass of water. “I slept enough.”

Throughout the evening and into the night, Steve got worse and worse, until he barely had a few moments to catch his breath before the wracking coughs shook him again. He couldn’t eat or even take a sip of water without nearly choking. He needed more rest, but the coughing made it impossible to sleep.

“Cough syrup,” Steve wheezed out, gesturing at his dresser from where he was propped up on all the pillows they owned. He coughed more when he was lying down.

“You think it’ll help?”

Steve nodded weakly. “Codeine.”

Bucky found the thick brown bottle and held it up to the light. There was only about an inch of fluid at the bottom. It must be left over from an illness last winter. The letters on the label were smudged so that Bucky couldn’t read them. “How much?”

Steve couldn’t answer without another burst of coughing, so Bucky just poured some of the medicine into a mug and handed it to Steve.

The cough syrup made Steve drowsy, but it wasn’t enough to let him really sleep. He slumped lower and lower on the bed as the syrup made him dopey, still coughing but less uncomfortable. By the time he was lying flat, he managed to drift off for a few moments. Bucky prayed that he’d get to rest, if only for an hour or two, but all too soon he was coughing again.

“Come on, pal.” Bucky slid one hand under Steve’s shoulder and pushed him until he was lying on his side. “You know you breathe better like this. You gotta stay off your back.”

Steve groaned in protest, then coughed again, but this spell didn’t last as long. Steve drifted into a restless sleep, and Bucky settled down on his own bed, listening to the whistling wheeze of Steve’s breathing.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Bucky jolted awake to find Steve sitting up in bed. He wasn’t coughing, but only because he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his body. His whole chest was working with the strain of it, like his lungs were trying to pull air through his skin and bones. His face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and Bucky didn’t think it was his imagination that his lips were turning a little blue. Worst of all, he looked terrified.

Bucky was immediately on his feet and at his side. He put a hand on Steve’s back and struggled to keep his voice even. “Try to breathe, Steve. You know it’s worse when you get upset.”

Bucky racked his brain to remember all the tricks Mrs. Rogers used to use when Steve got bad like this. Sometimes she would boil water, because breathing in the steam helped clear the congestion.

“Don’t move,” Bucky ordered. He pulled out a big stock pot, filled it at the sink, and slammed it onto the tiny stove, slopping water everywhere. He turned the flame up high, and while they waited for it to heat, he pulled wrapped Steve in the quilt from his bed and helped him over to a chair in the kitchen.

The water seemed to take forever to come to a boil, and Bucky watched Steve anxiously the whole time. When the steam finally started to rise, it didn’t help one bit. Steve was making a terrible noise every time he tried to inhale—a grating sound, like the air was scraping its way down his throat. This wasn’t just Steve’s asthma. This was something worse.

Steve looked at him with wide eyes, and Bucky rubbed his back through the thick quilt. “C’mon, Stevie. Close your eyes, and try to breathe slow.” He could feel Steve’s body shaking under his hands, and his face looked gray. Fear clawed its way back into Bucky’s mind. He thought of taking Steve to the hospital, but even if they could find someone with a phone to call a cab, it might take too long.

Standing so close to the boiling pot was making Bucky break out into a sweat. He couldn’t understand how the steamy heat could ever help Steve’s breathing. He imagined Steve’s throat and lungs, swollen and red from all the coughing. Wouldn’t cool water feel better than hot steam? Like ice on a black eye.

Bucky grabbed Steve and half-carried him over to the window, dragging the chair behind them. He threw open the sash and stuck Steve’s head out the window. Steve couldn’t even get enough breath to ask him what the hell he was doing or argue with him. Bucky just held him there, praying, as the icy wind blew into the room.

Slowly—much too slowly—the frigid air began to soothe the inflammation in Steve’s lungs, and his breath came a little easier. Bucky lowered him into the chair, and Steve put his forearm along the windowsill and rested his forehead against it, still gulping at the dry, cold air coming in through the window. He leaned against Bucky’s side.

When Steve could get enough air to speak, he said, “I hate this.”

He wasn’t whining. But he usually didn’t talk like that, and Bucky hated to hear it.

“I hate being sick and weak and useless,” Steve continued.

“You’re not.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s head. “You’re the strongest man I know.”

Steve shook his head without lifting it from his arm—just rocked it back and forth on his forehead.

When the cold got to be too much, Bucky carried him back to bed. Steve didn’t protest. Bucky went to close the window, and when he turned back, he realized that he’d put Steve on his own bed. Steve was all curled up, still wrapped in his quilt. He was clearly chilled to the bone, so Bucky crawled in next to him, piling all the blankets over both of them.

Steve gasped out a few words. “You don’t have to—”

“Are you kidding? I’m freezing too.”

He pulled Steve close, sliding one arm around his waist. He could feel Steve’s body laboring, puffing out like a bellows, struggling to get enough air.

Suddenly Bucky thought about his mother calling him a good man. It was unearned praise—as if he were doing something noble and self-sacrificing when truly his need to keep Steve with him was desperately selfish.

*****

The next morning, Bucky woke up still curled around Steve. Before he even opened his eyes, he stuck one hand out from under the covers to feel Steve’s forehead. He was warm, but not feverish. His breathing still whistled a little, but it sounded better than when they’d gone to sleep.

Bucky tried to roll onto his back and almost fell on the floor. “This bed is too small.”

“I’ll go back to mine.” Steve’s voice was tight and raspy, like he had laryngitis, but Bucky’d never heard of laryngitis making somebody as sick as Steve had been the night before.

“Nah, don’t move. I’ll get up and make breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, then I won’t.” Bucky rubbed his face. One of his arms was trapped under Steve’s head, and his foot was asleep from Steve’s leg pressing on his, but he felt too tired to untangle their limbs. Bucky let out a yawn that almost split his head in two.

“You should go back to sleep,” Steve said.

Bucky shook his head.

Steve made an unhappy sound. “I wish I could make it so you don’t have to work so hard. You never get enough sleep as it is, and now with me sick—”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insisted.

“I wish I had a million dollars,” Steve said. “You could sleep for a week, and then we’ll go on a trip somewhere.”

“A million dollars? That’s one heck of a trip.”

“Okay, smart guy, what would you do if you had that kind of money?”

Bucky would pay a team of doctors to find a cure for everything that ailed Steve, but he knew Steve didn’t want to hear that. “I’d send you to art school, so you can be a famous artist. You’ll sell your paintings for a million dollars a piece, so we’ll be rich forever. It’s like wishing for more wishes.”

Steve’s laugh came out of his ravaged throat sounding strangled.

“We could get a swanky place,” Bucky continued. “A penthouse in Manhattan. You can sit in Central Park all day and paint.”

“And what’ll you do?”

Bucky shrugged. He couldn’t even imagine a response. If Steve was happy and healthy, he’d probably feel like he’d accomplished enough for one lifetime.

*****

“Go on, I’ll be fine,” Steve insisted.

Bucky had already arranged for Mrs. Czosky to come in during the day. Bucky had asked her to heat up some of the leftover stew for Steve’s lunch, and she’d promised to send word if Steve got worse again.

“You can’t miss any more work,” Steve pointed out. “If you get fired, we’ll both starve to death.”

Bucky frowned.

“I was kidding!” Steve cried. “Will you go already?”

Steve was better now—Bucky knew that. But he was still a little uneasy about leaving him alone for an entire day.

The last thing Bucky was expecting when he got back to work was having to confront Eileen. She was furious that he’d missed a date. The first time he saw her he started to smile, but she turned up her nose and swept by him like he wasn’t even there.

A low whistle from behind Bucky made him turn. It was Jack.

“Hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” he said with mock seriousness.

“I didn’t scorn her.”

“Then what’d you do?”

“I was sick, and then . . .” Bucky let the sentence trail off. He didn’t want to talk to Jack about taking care of Steve.

“Then what?”

Jack was waiting for Bucky to answer, frowning slightly. Bucky felt another flash of annoyance at Eileen. He would’ve been satisfied if she’d been half as concerned as Jack, and instead she was throwing a temper tantrum like some spoiled kid.

Bucky turned away from Jack and grabbed a stack of folded napkins. “Then I got better.”

After a couple of hours Eileen seemed to get tired of ignoring him. Bucky was able to corner her at her desk to apologize. “I was sick, and then I was taking care of my roommate. I sent a message that I wasn’t coming to work.”

“Yeah, a message to the _restaurant_ ,” Eileen hissed. “I thought you were a gentleman. A real gentleman would have made sure that I got a private message.”

Bucky took a deep, calming breath. They’d only been on a few lousy dates, but she was acting like they were going steady. “I’m real sorry, Eileen. Really. I was sick as a dog, and Steve . . . well, he’s not all that strong. And he’s like family.”

She was studying him, her head tilted to one side. “I guess I can’t be sore at you for taking care of your friend.”

Bucky leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and she finally smiled. “That’s better.” He went even closer to whisper in her ear. “And I’ll make it up to you later.”

She giggled.

It was one of the longest working days of Bucky’s life, and not just because of having to soothe Eileen’s hurt pride. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve, about how quickly his coughing spells could escalate. What if Mrs. Czosky tried to send a message and Bucky didn’t get it?

When the restaurant finally closed, Bucky grabbed his coat, ready to rush out the door, but he was ambushed by Eileen. She slid her arms around Bucky’s waist and tried to kiss him while he was struggling to get his coat on.

“C’mon, Bucky.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sorry. I gotta get home. Steve’s still sick”

“He was well enough for you to come to work.”

“Yeah, but he’s always worse at night.”

She moved close again and rubbed her hands down Bucky’s arms, pushing his coat sleeves off. “Aw, you’re a such good guy. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Bucky gave up on the coat and put his hands on her waist.

“I want to meet him,” Eileen said, pressing her face against Bucky’s neck. “Can I meet him? I’ll fix him up, and we can double.” She kissed him, slow and sweet, then nibbled a little on his lower lip. It was nice, but Bucky couldn’t linger—not when Steve was waiting—and tried to speed things up. He slipped his hands from her waist, up over her ribs, and cupped her breasts. She giggled.

“Sure thing.” He nipped at her earlobe. “Once he’s feeling better.”

“Of course, once he’s all better.” Eileen pressed her palm against Bucky’s fly and giggled when she found that he was hard. “Such a good guy,” she murmured, and she stroked him through the fabric. Bucky kissed her again, pushing his tongue between her lips.

He knew he should leave. He _wanted_ to leave, but he wanted to stay too. And he’d already gotten her to forgive him once that day. He couldn’t hurt her feelings again.

Eileen’s hand pushed more firmly against Bucky’s erection. He groaned and let his head fall back until it hit the wall with a thud. She laughed.

“Careful,” she whispered. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

He lifted his head to smile at her, but her eyes were closed as she rubbed even harder.

Over Eileen’s shoulder, Bucky caught a glimpse of a face, a small blur of movement. Startled, he craned his neck until he could see that it was Jack, in a dark corner of the back room. Was he watching them?

“What’s wrong, Bucky?” Eileen whispered in his ear. “Don’t you like it?”

Bucky stared into the shadows until he could make out Jack’s face, and he was most definitely watching. The grin on his face was positively feral. For a split second, Bucky was frozen, torn between excitement and terror, but then Jack nodded, slowly.

“I . . . I like it,” Bucky said.

Jack nodded again, encouragingly.

“Of course I like it, honey. Don’t stop.”

She nuzzled happily at his neck at the endearment, and then her fingers began working at his belt.

Bucky knew he should put a stop to it, but he didn’t. Not when Eileen slid her hand inside his pants and wrapped her fingers around him. Not when Eileen knelt on the floor, mindful of her stockings. Not even when she pulled his dick out through the slit in his boxers and closed her red lips around it. Bucky could see Jack still watching them, but he didn’t tell the guy to get lost, and he didn’t tell Eileen to stop.

He knew it wasn’t right, even as he groaned and thrust into her mouth. Maybe he wanted somebody to know that he’d gotten somewhere with Eileen when no one else was able to even get a date with her. Maybe he was still a little mad at her for giving him grief about missing their date when there’d been nothing he could do—Steve had been so sick.

Oh, not Steve. He couldn’t think of Steve. God, Steve would think Bucky was terrible. Talk about disrespectful. Letting some guy watch Eileen do that do him? Just so he could have bragging rights?

But her mouth was so warm and wet, Bucky couldn’t stop now. And with all the boxes around them, how much could Jack actually see anyway?

God, Eileen knew her stuff, gliding the flat of her tongue up the underside of Bucky’s dick while she rubbed the head with her hand. Bucky let out a groan. It was loud, echoing in the quiet room.

No, he had to stop. It was wrong.

He bent down to grab Eileen’s shoulder and gently pushed her away.

“Wait a minute. I think I hear someone coming.”

Bucky helped Eileen up, and they stepped away from each other. She bent her head, ran her fingers through her hair, and tried to tidy up her lipstick. Bucky straightened his clothes and dared a look over to where Jack was still watching. He grinned at Bucky and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Come on,” Bucky said, tugging on his coat and reaching for Eileen’s where it was draped over a stack of boxes. “I’ll walk you home.” He held her coat while she slipped her arms into it.

Bucky prayed that Jack would stay out of sight, and he was gone by the time Bucky guided Eileen past his hiding place. Had he snuck out while Bucky’d been helping Eileen with her coat? It took him the entire walk to her building to stop feeling so jumpy.

Bucky thought maybe he’d just see her to her door and then get on home. Having an audience had given him a kick for a few minutes, but now he felt unsettled by it. He kissed her, thinking it was goodnight, but Eileen kissed him back fiercely and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come inside,” she purred, pressing against him without a hint of shame. “My roomie’s out.” As they climbed the stairs, Bucky could feel his dick start to twitch in anticipation.

He sank onto the couch, and she clambered on top of him, straddling his lap. She ground her hips into his, pressing his dick between them.

“Still ready for me, huh?” she said with a laugh.

“Always, doll.”

Bucky reached for the buttons on her blouse, kissing the skin he revealed until he could bury his face in her cleavage. She reached behind her back to unhook her bra, and Bucky slipped his fingers underneath. He cupped her breasts in both hands, then lowered his head to lick. She arched her back, pushing her nipple into his mouth, and he sucked gently.

He dropped his right hand to her thigh and slid it up high under her skirt so he could rub her through her panties. The fabric was already soaked through, and she moaned as he traced little circles with his thumb. He tried to keep up the movement while he fumbled with his other hand to undo his belt, yank down his pants and boxers—she’d just have to lean a little closer. He could pull her panties aside and let her sink right down onto him. But instead, her whole body went tense.

“Wait a minute.”

Bucky kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “I’ve got rubbers.”

She tried to move to the side, off Bucky’s legs, but he put his arms around her waist.

“No sir,” she said, pushing at Bucky’s shoulders. “I’m not taking any chances.” “Okay,” Bucky said. He let her go—it wasn’t like he was trying to force her. “Okay.”

She knelt on the cushion next to him. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light.

“Sorry, Bucky. It’s just I know a girl who got in trouble, you know? Even with a rubber. I don’t wanna risk it.”

“It’s okay.”

“There’s lots of other stuff we can do.”

His dick was still sticking up out of his fly, and she reached out for it. He kissed her, sliding his hand between her legs again. She giggled and spread her knees wider. “Oh, Bucky.”

Bucky was wound up, and Eileen was being too gentle. He’d been so ready back at the restaurant, and they’d been going at it hot and heavy ever since coming into the apartment. Eileen’s casual caresses were driving him a little nuts. He hooked two fingers inside of her, she let out a moan and her hand loosened. He took advantage of her distraction to wrap his hand around hers on his dick, giving himself a little something to push into. A minute later she pulled her hand away, and that was even better.

Bucky kept his left hand around his dick, but he focused on Eileen. She was already excited enough that it didn’t take long until she was close, panting against Bucky’s neck. When she cried out, Bucky knew he didn’t have to do much more, just hold his fingers still and wait for her to finish, so he turned his attention to his other hand, stroking fast and hard until he came.

Eileen put her head on his shoulder and draped her arm across his chest, almost purring in contentment. Bucky felt out of kilter. He’d gotten release, but not much real pleasure. He was still thrown by the strange encounter in the back room, and now that he’d calmed down, he felt guilty thinking about Steve waiting for him at home. He was polite, not moving from the couch until Eileen pointed out how late it was getting. He didn’t want to rush out on her. None of it was her fault. She kissed him goodbye at the door, and he was relieved to get out of the stuffy apartment.

Bucky didn’t let himself think about what had happened in the back room. If Jack told anyone . . . well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

It was the coldest night yet this winter, and Bucky worried how chilly the apartment might get—the windows were so drafty.

When he got home, Steve was sitting up with his sketchbook, looking well enough. Bucky relaxed just a little, but he came to check Steve’s forehead before he even took off his coat.

“Yikes, your fingers are cold,” Steve said, ducking away from Bucky’s hand.

“Yeah, it’s freezing out. Winter’s really here.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, his expression a little guilty.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked. Maybe he’d let himself relax too soon.

Steve lifted one hand and wiggled his fingers. He was wearing wool gloves with the fingertips cut off so that he could still hold a pencil. “These were yours. I couldn’t find any of mine. Are there boxes we never unpacked?”

“Like I care about the gloves.”

“Take off your coat,” Steve said. “Stay a while.” He bowed his head, turning his attention back to his drawing.

Bucky changed into his pajamas, moving quickly against the chill.

“What are you working on?”

Steve turned his sketchbook to show his drawing, and Bucky crossed the room to look at it more closely. It was a picture of a girl with a jump rope. It was obvious Steve had only just started—the pencil lines were light and imprecise, but already Bucky could see it was supposed to be the little girl who lived on the first floor of the building. Somehow, Steve had managed to make the still drawing give the idea of the girl’s lively energy.

Bucky set on the edge of Steve’s bed and took the book from him. “This looks really good.”

“Thanks.”

After studying the sketch for a few minutes, Bucky flipped back a few pages. “May I?”

Steve shrugged as if he didn’t care, but Bucky knew he liked getting encouragement, so he looked back over the last few drawings Steve had done. Bucky doubted that it was just the better paper he’d bought for Steve that made the drawings so impressive, but still, he feel an odd sense of pride when he looked at Steve’s work. He really was getting good.

“Wow, Steve. These are great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hold on a sec.” Bucky set the sketchbook aside carefully and jumped up to pull his favorite, moth-eaten sweater out of his dresser and tugged it on over his head. Steve shifted his legs over to make room, and Bucky settled himself again at the end of Steve’s bed, leaning against the wall, and turned back to the drawings.

“Where’s this one?” Bucky asked, showing Steve a drawing of a rundown building, its windows boarded up.

“I see that on the way home from work. They’re starting to fix it up, but I like it all beat up like that, for some reason.”

“Man, it’s cold tonight,” Bucky said. He tucked his feet up on the bed off the chilly floor.

“Here.” Steve nudged at Bucky until he moved off the covers, pulled them out from where they were tucked neatly under the mattress, then threw the quilt over Bucky’s legs.

*****

“Bucky, it’s late.” Eileen’s voice wasn’t quite a whine, but she sure wasn’t happy.

Bucky finally felt like it was safe to stay out late tonight—Steve was doing so much better, so Bucky didn’t worry about leaving him alone for so long—but Eileen was being a stick in the mud.

“It’s been a long week. I just want to go home. Maybe take a nice, hot bath.”

“It’s not all that late, and I know you don’t have to be back at work until two tomorrow. You can sleep in. C’mon.” He kissed her neck, then glanced up quickly to make sure they were alone in the back room.. “I said I’d make it up to you—being gone so long while Steve was sick. I never really did.”

She giggled and melted in his arms. As they walked away from the restaurant, Bucky saw a tall thin figure at the bus stop on the corner, illuminated by a street light. It was Jack. His collar was turned up against the cold, and a cigarette dangled from one hand.

“Night, Jack,” Eileen said cheerfully.

Jack didn’t answer, but when Bucky looked back over his shoulder, Jack gave him a leering smile. Bucky turned away and walked a little faster.

“So what’s your pleasure?” Bucky asked, putting on a bit of bravado—he wasn’t about to let Jack rattle him. “You hungry? You feel like dancing?”

He meant it. He would have taken her out—drinks, dancing, dinner, whatever she wanted—but she took him straight to her apartment and threw her arms around him. It all happened very quickly after that: Bucky’s hand up her skirt, heated kisses, and her quiet, squeaky gasping as she came. She reached for his belt afterward, but pushed her hand away gently. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you,” he’d whispered, then made his way home feeling noble, if frustrated.

He hoped Steve would be asleep so that he could slip into bed and jerk off—get rid of the aggravation of the week and at least take the edge of the lingering dissatisfaction that the evening had left him with. But Steve was wide awake, sitting up in bed with a book on his knees.

“You’re back late,” he said.

Bucky froze, feeling oddly guilty, as if Steve was going to scold him for what he’d done with Eileen.

“I took Eileen out for a drink.”

“You getting serious about her?”

“No, it’s not like that. We’re just having a little fun.”

Steve didn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, she’s not the kind of girl you marry.”

Steve frowned. “What does that mean?”

“She’s a little . . . fast.” Bucky realized the second the words were out of his mouth that it sounded disrespectful, and there was nothing that bothered Steve more than that.

“You’re the one that keeps asking her out. You’re the one who—” Steve broke off. His scowl turned even more fierce. “You only go out with fast girls, but you don’t respect them.”

Anger flared up in Bucky’s belly. “Well, you don’t approve of that kind of thing either, do you?”

Steve shrugged. “You fool around. I don’t judge you for it.”

Bucky felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. Sure, Steve said he wasn’t passing judgment, but now that he’d said it, he wouldn’t look Bucky in the eye. And the fact that he said it meant that he’d thought about it.

Bucky tried not to let it bother him.

*****

Bucky woke the next morning feeling groggy and grumpy. He let himself wallow under the blankets for a long while before getting up. Part of him wished he could skip work that morning. His boss wouldn’t fire him for just one more missed shift, would he? He was so damn tired. But the last couple of weeks had eaten up too much of his emergency fund. He needed the paycheck, so he dragged himself out of bed.

It had taken him hours to get to sleep the night before. He could hear from Steve’s breathing that he wasn’t asleep either, so he hadn’t been able to take the edge off by touching himself—he shouldn’t have tried to be so damn self-sacrificing with Eileen, should have at least let her stick her hand in his pants. And he was unsettled by the conversation with Steve. Maybe it should have made him feel better—like Steve wouldn’t disapprove so much if he knew that Bucky had been generous with Eileen without taking advantage, but in actuality it just made him wish he’d done it even more. If he was going to feel guilty about it, at least he should get the fun part.

Bucky decided to skip breakfast. Clanking around in the kitchen might wake Steve, and Bucky’s stomach felt unsettled anyway. He made a sandwich to eat later and dressed quietly. He’d have to hustle to make it on time. He was more than a block away before he remembered his sandwich, still sitting neatly wrapped on the kitchen table. He stopped in his tracks and groaned in frustration. Bucky had gone without lunch before, but if he skipped lunch after not eating any breakfast, he’d be starving by the end of his shift, when he had to head straight to the restaurant. He had to go back.

He saw the light under the apartment door and felt guilty—he’d tried to be quiet, but he must have woken Steve. He unlocked the door to find Steve, sitting on his bed, almost fully dressed. His sock feet were on the floor next to his good shoes, and his tie was draped over his knee.

At first, Bucky genuinely didn’t understand what was going on. “What are you doing?”

Steve set his jaw stubbornly. “Going to work.”

Bucky should have known. Steve had been too agreeable lately, not arguing at all with Bucky about resting. He must have been planning for days to sneak out like this.

“The hell you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“You can barely go down the hall to take a piss, how are you going to walk eight blocks to work?”

Steve glared at him. “I don’t want to get fired.”

“You won’t get fired. MacNally loves you.”

“I haven’t been to work in almost two weeks.”

“You’re staying in bed if I have to come over there and sit on you to make you.”

“Bucky—”

“No. Gimme that.” Bucky yanked the tie off of Steve’s leg and hurled it across the room. “Get back in bed.”

“Wait, Buck, listen to me. I’ve missed eight days of work. Eight. MacNally’s understanding, but he’s not going to put up with that.”

“But that was part of the deal!” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Bucky regretted them. He was tired and grouchy and ready to strangle Steve, but he shouldn’t have hinted about the behind-the-scenes maneuvering he’d done to get Steve the job with MacNally.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Bucky answered. He went to the table and grabbed his sandwich. “I’m going to be late.”

“You made a deal? What, to get me the job?”

“It was nothing, okay? Forget about it.”

“Bucky, tell me what you did.”

Bucky looked at Steve. He was wearing his stubborn expression. He wasn’t going to let this go. Bucky sighed. “MacNally is married to my dad’s cousin. He kind of talked MacNally into giving me a job, but I asked him to hire you instead.”

“Why did you do that?”

Bucky threw up his hand. “To help you out. Come on, Steve, your mom was sick. You needed the money. I knew I could get another job—”

Steve interrupted him, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “And you figured I couldn’t.”

“I was trying to help.”

“I know.” Steve turned away from Bucky, lying on the bed.

Bucky knew he was angry. He hated it when he got special treatment. Hated it when Bucky thought of him as something less. But Bucky was angry too. Why did Steve have to be so damn stubborn? Why couldn’t he just let Bucky help?

Bucky wanted to sit down next to Steve. If he had time, he would put a hand on his shoulder, give him a little shake until he turned around. Then he’d apologize over and over until Steve came around. But he had less than ten minutes to get to the cannery.

“I’m late,” Bucky said.

Steve didn’t respond. He just lay on his bed, facing the wall. Bucky hoped that meant he would stay there and rest. He needed a couple more days before he went back to work.

“We’ll talk about when I get home, okay?”

Still Steve didn’t answer. Bucky huffed in frustration and stormed out the door.

All throughout his shift at the cannery and his evening at the restaurant, Bucky felt sick to his stomach whenever he thought about Steve being mad at him. He wanted to rush home after closing, to apologize. He still didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but hated it when Steve wouldn’t talk to him.

Bucky thought about the other night: Steve’s long fingers poking out of Bucky’s ruined gloves. Sitting on Steve’s bed with the quilt over his legs. Steve’s quiet cheerfulness as he showed Bucky his sketchbook. It wouldn’t be like that tonight. So when Eileen invited Bucky to come over after closing, he went without hesitation. By the time he got home, Steve was asleep.

*****

“I went to see MacNally,” Steve told Bucky the next morning. “I quit.”

“Aw, Steve, what’d you go and do that for?”

“I’ll find a real job.”

“You had a real job. They paid you real money, didn’t they?”

Steve didn’t answer.

“People get help getting jobs all the time, Steve. I got the waiter job because Gil put in a good word for me. You think that’s terrible?”

Steve glared. “That’s different, and you know it. All Gil had to say is ‘Barnes is a good guy’ and you got the job. You set this up for me like I’m a child.”

“You are so damn bull-headed!”

Bucky left early for work because he couldn’t stand the silence in the apartment.

*****

“How about a drink after closing?” Bucky asked

“I can’t,” Eileen answered. “I’m going to my sister’s. She’s—”

“Coming through!” Gil called, on his way to the dining room with a heavy tray.

Bucky and Eileen scrambled to one side. They were standing by the kitchen door. There was a lot of traffic there, and Bucky probably shouldn’t have introduced the topic of a date in such a public place, but Eileen seemed to have gotten over the idea that she shouldn’t be dating someone at work.

“Can’t you go in the morning?”

“No, I promised. She’s—”

Someone bumped into Bucky’s shoulder, knocking him forward. He took Eileen’s arm to gently move her out of the way, then turned to give a good-natured warning. It was Jack. The words died in Bucky’s throat. His eyes darted to Eileen, then back to Jack, willing him to keep his trap shut.

Jack gave Bucky a cocky grin. “Sorry, Barnes. Bad place for a conversation.”

“Can you at least meet me in the back?” Bucky leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“I don’t know, Bucky . . .”

Bucky could see Jack over Eileen’s shoulder. He was smirking at them, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. It rattled Bucky, but he tried to shake it off.

“Come on,” he murmured, his lips brushing Eileen’s ear. “Just for a little while?

Eileen pulled away and tried to frown at him, but a smile was pulling at the corner of her mouth. “All right, just for a little while.”

Bucky grinned at her. He didn’t mean to, but he looked over at Jack to see if he was still listening. Jack winked, and it sent a little thrill up Bucky’s spine, though he knew it wasn’t right. What if Jack showed up to watch? Bucky would have to put a stop to it—he couldn’t let Jack see Eileen like that again.

After closing, Bucky rushed to change his shirt before Eileen showed up. He walked around the back room, checking all the shadowy corners. Jack was nowhere to be found, but still, Bucky felt jittery with nerves. He was also already half hard.

He finally slumped down on a pile of crates, wondering if he should just give up and go home. Then he heard footsteps.

Jack appeared around the end of the row of shelves. “She’s not coming.”

Bucky felt his face flush and he leaped to his feet. “What do you know about it?”

“Her brother came to pick her up at closing time. Her sister’s having a baby.”

“Christ, a baby?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Now she’ll get all moony-eyed and start talking about getting married and having babies.” Bucky meant it as a joke, but Jack didn’t laugh. Suddenly Bucky remembered Eileen’s mentioning knowing a girl who got pregnant by accident—could it be her sister? That would at least explain Eileen’s reluctance to let Bucky go all the way.

“What’s wrong, Barnes? You not the marrying kind?”

“Not yet anyway.”

“What kind are you then?”

Something in Jack’s tone was sounding alarm bells in Bucky’s brain, and he couldn’t think straight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You liked me watching you.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Jack only chuckled. “Come on, you don’t have to pretend. I know Eileen’s pretty fast, for all the she plays hard to get, but it wasn’t just that.” He stepped closer. “You saw me watching, and you liked it.”

Bucky’s dick was rock hard now, and it scared him to death.

“You know, Barnes, I’m not exactly the marrying kind either.”

Bucky’s hands were clenched into fists, but he didn’t want to punch this guy. “Just back off, buddy. Okay?”

When Jack took one more step, Bucky reached out and shoved at his shoulder. It wasn’t very forceful, and Jack just laughed again and knocked Bucky’s hand away. Then Jack rested his own hand over Bucky’s fly.

“I’m a lot like you, Barnes. I know how to have a good time, no strings attached.”

Jack started moving his hand, the heel of it pressing Bucky’s dick against his belly. He whispered in Bucky’s ear, “No one has to know.”

Jack tore Bucky’s pants open and slid his hand inside. His hand felt hot on Bucky’s skin. He stroked Bucky’s dick hard and fast until Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was good. God, it was good—better than with Eileen. He touched Bucky the way he touched himself, like he _knew_.

Jack leaned close, but Bucky turned his face away, shocked that Jack would try to kiss him. All he got was the corner of Bucky’s mouth and some of his chin. But he didn’t let it stop him. His mouth traveled down Bucky’s neck, leaving a searing hot trail on his skin. He opened his mouth and sucked hard, then his teeth closed right where Bucky’s neck met his shoulder. Bucky moaned, trying not to thrust into Jack’s hand. 

Jack let go of Bucky to yank his pants down around his knees. Bucky’s dick jerked, and Jack smiled, smug. “You like that, huh?”

“Shut up,” But he barely got the words out—he couldn’t get his breath—and Jack laughed.

God, what if they got caught? He couldn’t deny what was going on with his bare ass hanging out like that. Jack could be lying. Eileen could walk in any second. But Jack had already fallen to his knees. Bucky felt frozen—he could only stare. Jack grinned up at him slyly, then bent his head and sucked Bucky’s dick into his mouth.

Hot. So hot and wet. His lips tight. His hands everywhere at once, stroking up Bucky’s belly and down his thighs. Bucky screwed his eyes shut. He had to stop this. But his hips snapped forward like they had a mind of their own. As he pushed forward, Jack let out a moan, and Bucky dared to open his eyes. 

Jack’s mouth was stretched around his dick, and he had one hand shoved into his pants, jerking himself as he sucked Bucky off. Bucky watched as Jack’s hand moved faster and faster. Then he groaned, and Bucky could feel the vibrations in his dick, bringing him right to the edge. He grabbed Jack’s hair—he couldn’t help it—and thrust into his mouth.

Jack moaned again, a hungry sound, and reached around to grab Bucky’s ass, pulling Bucky deeper into his mouth. His fingers dug into Bucky’s flesh. God, he was close. One fingertip brushed his asshole.

 _Stop_ , Bucky tried to say, but he managed only a choked-off gasp. Jack’s mouth tightened around him, and Bucky went off like a firecracker, crying out, then slumped back against the wall, pulling Jack with him. 

Bucky stood there for a few moments, panting for air, before he started to panic. Jack was leaning against Bucky’s naked thigh, and he sighed, like a lovesick dame. Bucky wanted to yell at him and push him away, but he had to consciously unclench his fingers from where they were tightly twisted in Jack’s hair. 

Bucky watched Jack wipe his hand off with a handkerchief, then slide it down inside his pants to clean himself up. He glanced up at Bucky and smiled. It wasn’t the obnoxious, smug smile from before. It looked almost shy, and the righteous anger Bucky had felt welling up in his chest melted away and turned to shame. He turned away to get himself together, tugging up his pants and tucking in his shirt.

What if someone found out? What if Jack told Eileen? She had a temper—if she knew, she’d probably tell everybody at the restaurant, everyone she knew. Everyone Bucky knew. He thought of Steve, but his mind skittered away. Steve could never, ever find out.

Jack came up behind Bucky and put a hand on his arm. He tried to hook his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—like Eileen when she was at her most shamelessly flirtatious. Bucky pulled away from him.

“Come on, Barnes.”

Bucky turned and scowled at him.

“We had a good time,” Jack said, his voice cloying. “Can’t we be friends?”

Bucky couldn’t answer. Jack was being decent, even if he was talking in that sly tone again.

“Relax, Barnes. I keep my word. I won’t tell anyone.”

Bucky grabbed his coat and ran out of the room.

He raced home, as if he’d feel safe once he was off the streets. Like he could hide under the covers from what he’d done. But when he got home, Steve was there. He’d left a light on for Bucky, like he always did when Bucky was working late, but he was asleep, thankfully.

Bucky knew he wouldn’t be able to face him, whether he was still angry or not. He was always so damn perfect. Not that he didn’t do stupid stuff, but it wasn’t in the same category. Like quitting his job: stupid, but he did it for his own grand principles, however misguided they were.

Had it really been only that morning? The argument about Steve quitting his job? It seemed like ages ago. Time moved slowly when Steve was mad at him. It didn’t happen often, but everything felt wrong until Steve finally forgave him, then apologized for being angry, even when Bucky had been the stupid one.

A shower. Bucky would take a nice, long shower. No one else was likely to be using the bathroom so late at night, so there should be plenty of hot water. He went to the drawer to get some clean pajamas.

Several minutes later, he was still standing in front of his dresser. He couldn’t push everything out of his mind the way he wanted to.

Was Jack queer? He had always seemed just like a regular guy. Bucky would never have guessed he was a pervert. He and Bucky had joked around a lot—God, had Jack thought Bucky was flirting? _Had_ he been flirting? He hadn’t mean to. He hadn’t mean for any of this to happen, but he’d let him put his hands on him, his mouth.

Bucky grabbed some pajamas, cutting off that thought before it went any further. He remembered just in time not to slam the drawer shut. He looked over at Steve, praying that he would stay soundly asleep. He couldn’t have Steve asking questions, not when he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that he was a pervert, just like Jack: something was wrong with Bucky—there must be. If there wasn’t, he wouldn’t have let Jack touch him like that. Bucky would never be able to look Steve in the eye again.

Bucky scoured his skin in the shower, trying to wash everything away, but it was like he could still feel Jack’s hands on him, like he was marked somehow. The feeling of his own hands, combined with the memories he couldn’t shake, was too much. He started to get hard. He resolutely ignored his body, scrubbing even harder with his washcloth, until the water turned cold.

When he got back to the room, Steve was still sleeping. Bucky let himself stare, trying to prove to himself that he was panicking for nothing. But all Bucky wanted was to crawl into bed next to Steve. He would beg for forgiveness. He craved the comfort of Steve’s presence, of his body. He thought of all the times he’d shared a bed with Steve. All the times Bucky’d thrown his arm over Steve’s shoulder and pulled him close. It was all suspect now.

He looked at the curve of Steve’s lower lip and imagined pressing his mouth to it. Remembered Jack’s mouth, stretched around his dick. God, he couldn’t drag Steve down with him.

He had to get it together before Steve saw him in the morning. What if Steve could tell somehow? If Steve knew, Bucky would die. He was sure of it.

*****

Bucky shouldn’t have worried. Steve was still so mad he wouldn’t even look at him. He left early in the morning to look for work. Bucky still felt uneasy, being at odds with Steve, but he was also relieved that Steve was too preoccupied to notice Bucky acting strangely.

On the way to work, Bucky planned to find Eileen as soon as possible. He would make a date to take her out somewhere nice. Then he would take her back to her apartment—roommate be damned. He would tease her, make her crazy until she begged him to make love to her. It was the best way he could think of to chase away his doubts.

But Eileen wasn’t there. When Bucky went to her desk at the front of the restaurant, Jack was there instead, wearing a nice suit instead of the white jacket and bow tie all the waiters wore.

“She’s not coming,” Jack said.

He spoke in a completely ordinary way, but it was just like the night before. When Bucky blushed, a small smile crept onto Jack’s face, which grew wider as Bucky closed the space between them and leaned close. Bucky waited for a sly remark, but Jack didn’t say another word—just looked at Bucky, waiting.

“You damn well better keep your promise,” Bucky hissed between his teeth. “Don’t tell a soul.”

Jack flinched away and stared at Bucky like a kicked dog. Bucky’d been so certain that he would be smug. That he’d tease Bucky, or threaten him. Bucky’s fear had turned him into a jerk and a bully, and now maybe he had turned Jack against him. Bucky turned on his heel and headed for his section, careful to make it look like he wasn’t running away. At least with Jack working Eileen’s job, Bucky didn’t run into him as often, and when he did, they were in the dining room surrounded by customers.

Eileen didn’t come back to work for four days—four days of Steve waking angry, four days of avoiding Jack—but when she finally came back, she was glowing. She apologized for disappearing and, just as Bucky had feared, gushed about her new nephew. Bucky escaped as soon as he could, needing to get ready for his shift, but even when the restaurant was quiet, time when he would normally make a beeline for her hostess desk for a few minutes of flirtation, Bucky steered clear.

Eileen’s return also meant that Jack was back waiting tables, and he had the section right next to Bucky’s. He was watching Bucky’s avoidance of Eileen with obvious amusement.

In the middle of the dinner rush, Eileen smiled at Bucky while she was seating a large party—not in his section, Bucky couldn’t help but notice, and good tips had been scarce for him all day. Bucky tried to smile back, but she must have seen that it was forced. He tried to escape to the kitchen, but she followed him.

“Bucky Barnes, what on earth is the matter with you?” she whispered fiercely.

“Nothing,” Bucky lied. “What could be wrong?” 

“Hell has no fury . . .” Jack sang as he slipped by on his way to the kitchen.

Bucky glared after him.

Eileen blew a stream of air upward, making her bangs flop on her forehead. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

Bucky shrugged.

Jack picked that moment to emerge from the kitchen with a tray full of food.

“I think Barnes is a little nervous that you’re so gaga over babies, Eileen.”

“Hey!” Bucky took a step toward Jack, but checked himself. “Mind your own business.”

Jack sneered at him and fled to the dining room. Once he was safely gone, Bucky turned back to Eileen. She had tears in her eyes.

“You don’t have to worry, Bucky. If I wanted to get married, I wouldn’t be looking in your direction.”

The hours ticked slowly by. At closing time, Bucky didn’t even change his clothes—just headed for the door the moment he could.

Steve was outside. Bucky could see him through the glass door. He was standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

Bucky stopped for a minute, sure that he was imagining things. Then he unlocked the door and let Steve in.

“What’re you doing here?”

Steve looked at Bucky warily. “I thought maybe we could go to a movie.”

Did this mean that Steve forgave him? Bucky grinned. “Yeah, sure. Let me just go get my stuff.”

Bucky dashed into the back room, splashed some water on his face, and changed his shirt. But quick as he was, when he returned, Eileen was tidying up her hostess desk as Steve talked to Jack, who was clearly charmed.

Bucky didn’t like the way Jack was looking at Steve—he had envisioned nightmare scenarios where Steve met Jack, or even Eileen, but truly he’d thought they would only happen in his imagination. But there they were, all three of them in the cramped lobby of the restaurant. Bucky froze in his tracks and watched with mounting horror as Steve responded to Jack’s attention, smiling shyly.

Eileen approached and said, “Is that your friend?”

It took a moment for Bucky to tear his gaze away from Steve. “Yeah, this is Steve. Hey, Steve, this is Eileen.”

“Hiya, Steve. Bucky’s told me a lot about you.”

Steve smiled, but, as always when a pretty girl spoke to him, he clammed up and blushed. At least Eileen seemed to find it endearing. She smiled at Steve, then at Bucky, and Bucky realized he wouldn’t have to work too hard to get her to forgive him, to get back to the easy arrangement they had. But he also realized that he didn’t want to.

“We’re gonna catch a movie,” Bucky said. “Don’t want to be late.”

“You could, um, join us,” Steve said, turning to Eileen. “If you want.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet. I would, but my brother’s picking me up. My sister just had a baby—a little boy.”

Steve’s eyes darted over to Bucky for a split second before he stammered out some awkward congratulations on her new nephew.

Bucky dared a look at Jack, who was watching Steve with narrowed eyes.

A car horn sounded outside. “There’s my ride! See you tomorrow, boys!”

After Eileen was out the door, Steve turned to Jack. “How about you? You up for a movie?”

Jack turned to Bucky for a long, sickening moment before he answered. “Thank you, Steve, but I have plans too.”

“Okay,” Bucky said with false cheerfulness. “I guess it’s just you and me then. Have a good evening, Jack.”

Bucky herded Steve out the door and set a speedy pace in the direction of the movie theater three blocks away. Steve had to jog for a few steps to catch up.

“Jack was friendly,” Steve said. “He invited me to a party.”

Bucky stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “He what?”

“He asked me to come to a party next Saturday. Didn’t he invite you?”

Bucky shook his head, desperately trying to think of ways to keep Steve away from Jack before remembering that Steve didn’t even really like parties.

Steve shrugged and started walking again. “I figured he only asked me because I told him I was your friend. Maybe he just never got around to asking you.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it.”

“You gonna go?” Steve asked.

“To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably not. He’s kind of a strange guy.”

“He seemed okay to me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t judge a book by its cover. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

Steve shot him a sidelong look, and Bucky couldn’t read it. He was probably being paranoid. There was no reason for Steve to suspect anything unusual.

“You don’t want me to go to Jack’s party?” Steve asked.

He was panting slightly. Bucky slowed down so Steve could catch his breath.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

He turned to look at Steve, who was frowning.

“You think I can’t take care of myself,” Steve said in a low voice. “It’s like you think I can’t even make friends with regular people.”

Bucky wanted to say that Jack was about as far from regular as a guy could get, but then Steve would ask how he knew that.

The theater was only half a block away now.

“Look,” Bucky said. “I’m sorry. I don’t think that. I’m just not sold on the idea of going to parties with people from the restaurant.”

Steve studied Bucky’s face. “Okay,” he said finally. “You weren’t invited anyway, remember?” Then Steve grinned. “Come on, we’ll miss the cartoon.”

Bucky pulled out his wallet at the ticket booth, but Steve cut in front of him in line. “My treat, remember?”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. “At least let me get the candy, huh?”

As he got in line at the candy counter, Bucky reminded himself that this was just like the million other times he and Steve had gone to the movies together. So why was he so nervous? This wasn’t a date. Even if Bucky turned out to be . . . like that, this wasn’t something fairies did, was it? Did they go on dates with their sweethearts? Bucky imagined dank alleys and dive bars—no, he wasn’t going to imagine it at all. And Steve wasn’t his sweetheart.

Bucky wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. This was going to be a long night.

When Bucky went back to the ticket line, Steve was nowhere in sight. Bucky scanned the crowd, but he felt a sick certainty that Steve had gotten himself into trouble. His damn big mouth.

Bucky walked away from the front doors of the theater and peered into the alley that ran along the side. Steve was there, hands balled into fists, facing off with a man that loomed over him. The guy was only slightly taller than Bucky, but he was built like a tank. Steve had a fierce look on his face, but as Bucky strode down the alley, he saw him go down under the huge guy’s fist.

Bucky shouted, and the big guy turned away from Steve, who was lying sprawled out on the ground. His lip was bleeding, and there was snow in his hair and all over his coat. Bucky pulled his right arm back, but the guy was fast for his size. His fist hit the side of Bucky’s head and knocked him onto his knees.

Bucky saw stars. Warm blood dripped off his eyebrow onto his cheek. He would have stayed down, let that be the end of it, but Steve was struggling to his feet. The guy turned to face him again, taking several menacing steps toward him. Bucky jumped up and ran right at the guy, trying to knock him to the ground, but the guy ducked low and got in a blow to Bucky’s ribs.

They grappled on the slippery pavement until Bucky managed to pull away. He swung wildly and got in a lucky punch. He felt his knuckle split open on the guy’s tooth, but it was enough to send him packing. Bucky bent over, panting, and put his hands on his knees. He watched the guy lumber out of the alley and disappear around the corner.

“Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky looked up at Steve. He had wiped at his bleeding lip, so the blood was smeared across his chin. His eye left eye looked a little swollen—Bucky must have missed part of the bout before he’d caught up to Steve in the alley.

Steve was frowning, but he looked like he was all in one piece. “Bucky?”

Bucky’s left side throbbed where the guy had jabbed hard at his ribs, and he still couldn’t catch his breath, but he nodded. He watched as Steve picked up some snow and wrapped it in his handkerchief. Then he crossed over to Bucky, reached for his right hand, and gently pressed the makeshift ice pack against Bucky’s aching knuckles. Bucky wanted to tell Steve to use it on his own lip, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Steve would insist that he didn’t need it. Not to mention that the snow was probably filthy.

“Let’s go home,” Steve said, and Bucky followed him back out into the street.

*****

Steve sent Bucky down the hall to the bathroom while he grabbed some supplies from the apartment. Bucky looked in the mirror. He had a gash over his left eye, and the skin around it was already bruised and swollen. The blood had dried in dark lines down his cheek and onto his neck. He took off his coat, jacket, and shirt, but Steve arrived before he managed to peel his undershirt off—he was having a hard time lifting his arms over his head with the soreness on his side.

“Sit,” Steve said, waving his hand at the lip of the bathtub. He wet a washcloth at the sink and bent over Bucky to examine his face. “I don’t think you need stitches.”

Bucky didn’t answer at first. He tilted his head to let Steve wash the blood off his face, then blot at the cut with alcohol. Bucky hissed, and Steve winced sympathetically.

“What was it this time?”

Steve’s mouth settled into a hard line, but his hands were still gentle on Bucky’s face.

“He was harassing the girl selling tickets. I can’t just stand there while—”

“Yeah, you can.” Bucky blurted out. “You can if it means not getting squashed by a guy three times your size.”

“Don’t treat me like a dumb kid.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Steve scowled, and his hands fell away, leaving Bucky feeling unmoored.

“I just . . . Look, I’m sorry I said that, okay?”

Steve looked at Bucky for a long time before he started dabbing at the skin near his eye again.

“I wanna take a look at your eye too,” Bucky said, deciding to let the scolding go for now. “And we should get your lip cleaned up.”

“I’m okay,” Steve insisted. “It’s not bleeding anymore.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

Bucky couldn’t pull his gaze away from Steve’s mouth.

Steve touched his lip tentatively with one fingertip. “Doesn’t even hurt.” 

The room felt too hot.

“I think there’s something really wrong with me,” Bucky said. He didn’t even know he’d said the words out loud until he realized that Steve was taking him literally, like there was some physical injury that needed attention.

“What is it?” Steve said, looking at Bucky closely. “Do you think you have a concussion?”

Bucky couldn’t answer.

“Is it your ribs?” Steve put a hand on Bucky’s side. “I really hope you don’t have a broken rib. You’ll have trouble lifting trays.”

He ran his hand down Bucky’s body. It felt warm on Bucky’s skin through his thin undershirt.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice came out hoarse and strangled. And dry. He tried to swallow, but it didn’t do any good.

“Yeah?” Steve answered, but he was distracted, his hand still pressing gently against Bucky’s ribcage.

Steve finally looked at Bucky—really looked at him. “What is it?”

“I—” Bucky tried to swallow again. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t get words out.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve was clearly concerned now. “Do you think we should go to the hospital?”

Bucky jumped to his feet. Steve tried to back out of the way and stumbled a little, but Bucky caught his arm and pulled him close. And before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky kissed Steve full on the mouth, sliding his arms around Steve’s waist.

Steve’s lips were soft and warm, and something rose up in Bucky at the feel of them against his own—something between a moan and a sob. He wanted to savor the kiss. If he was only going to get one, he wanted to remember every detail.

But Steve was so still. Bucky pulled away to look at him—he stood there frozen, his eyes still closed and his mouth hanging open. Bucky wanted to kiss him again. Wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his whole life. But he must have used up all his courage, because he turned and ran.

*****

Bucky stalked the dark streets for hours. He would have walked around all night, but he didn’t have his coat, though he’d grabbed his shirt and jacket as he’d fled. The cold finally made him give up and head to his parents’ house. The windows were dark, so he snuck in and collapsed on the couch.

His mother jumped when she emerged from the bedroom in the morning. “What on earth happened to you?”

“I had a few too many with the guys over at O’Donnell’s last night,” Bucky lied. “It was closer to come here.”

She frowned. “You shouldn’t drink so much. And you shouldn’t let Steve get you into these scrapes. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll get you some ice for that eye. Don’t you have to work today?”

She bustled around fixing a big breakfast for him. Part of Bucky wanted to tell her everything. Even about kissing Steve. But he couldn’t. He was always running to his mother for help. And she would be so ashamed of him if she knew. He would figure this out himself.

*****

That evening, Bucky was changing into his uniform in the back room when Jack found him.

“I enjoyed meeting your friend,” he said.

Bucky fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, trying to finish quickly.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” Jack continued. “I was just trying to be friendly.”

Bucky’s heart was thudding loudly in his ears. He was afraid if someone else came into the room, he wouldn’t be able to hear any footsteps.

“You don’t have to worry,” Jack continued. “I promised you I wouldn’t tell, and I always keep my word.”

The restaurant was hectic, and Bucky was able to keep Eileen at bay with a few fake smiles and by making sure he was always busy with customers. After his shift, he changed clothes in the customer rest room, hoping no one would think to look for him there. But when he stepped outside onto the sidewalk, both Eileen and Jack were there. Jack was leaning close, talking in Eileen’s ear.

Bucky felt like he was going to be sick. What was Jack telling her?

Eileen noticed Bucky and smiled. His relief must have shown on his face, because Jack rolled his eyes. Eileen beckoned Bucky over, and he started to obey. But then, out of the corner of his eye, Bucky caught sight of Steve standing on the sidewalk about half a block away.

Bucky froze, staring. Steve stared right back. Bucky was tempted to make a run for it, but he couldn’t leave Steve behind with Jack. Steve slowly approached until he was standing just a few feet away from Bucky. He was wearing that familiar stubborn expression, so Bucky knew there was no escape. He glanced over at Eileen and Jack. It was bad enough having to face Steve, but to have to do it with an audience?

“I’m not mad about what you did last night,” Steve said.

Bucky’s stomach churned.

Eileen whirled on him. “Did you hit him?”

Confused, Bucky shook his head. “No, I—” He knew he must look guilty—it was because of the kiss, but Eileen had seen the bruise around Steve’s eye and his split lip and assumed the worst. He hated to let anyone think he would ever hurt Steve, but he couldn’t correct her.

A car pulled up to the curb, and Eileen yanked open the door. “I’m going.”

Bucky couldn’t spare any attention for Eileen. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steve.

“Bucky? Did you hit him?” Eileen asked again, but he ignored her.

“I’m not mad,” Steve repeated. “But unless you want me to return the favor, right here and now, come on home, and we’ll figure this out without a fight.”

It took a minute for Steve’s words to sink in. Was Steve really threatening to kiss him? In the middle of the sidewalk? Bucky’s heart was beating out of control.

“Are you kidding?” Jack said with a nervous laugh. “You’re going to start a fight, right here in the street? This is crazy.”

Steve shook his head.

A man’s voice called out from inside the car: “Eileen, let’s go!”

She let out a frustrated growl. “I thought you were a good guy, Bucky, but you’re just another jerk.” She climbed into the car, slammed the door, and the car pulled away.

Bucky was still frozen, Steve’s gaze pinning him in place so that he couldn’t move.

Jack took a tentative step forward. “Okay, maybe we should all just calm down here. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Steve tore his eyes from Bucky’s and looked at Jack. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he said quietly. “I really don’t mean to be rude. I know you’re trying to help, but this is between me and Bucky.”

With that, Steve strode over to Bucky and tugged on his arm until he moved away, leaving Jack to gape after them. 

“Steve, please,” Bucky said when they were out of earshot. “What the hell is going on?”

Steve’s steps slowed, but he gave no other sign that he’d heard Bucky’s question. He took a long time to answer. 

“Last night—” Steve began.

But Bucky interrupted him: “I’m sorry.”

Steve stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Are you? Are you really sorry, Buck?”

“Steve—”

“Because if you are, I’ll tell you I forgive you, and I’ll never bring it up again. But if you feel the way I do . . .”

Bucky tried to force himself to speak.

Steve reached out to touch Bucky’s arm before he seemed to catch himself. He took a big step back and tilted his head toward the bus stop on the corner. “Let’s go home, huh? Please? We can talk there.”

Bucky’s stomach was churning as he caught up with Steve. “You wouldn’t really have done it, would you?” Bucky asked. “Right there in front of the restaurant?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how stubborn you were being.”

By the time they got to the bus stop, Bucky’s hands were shaking. But Steve was smiling. How could he be so calm? Bucky was terrified.

They stood side by side, looking into the street. Bucky was marginally reassured by the feeling of Steve’s shoulder brushing against his arm.

“Have you done this before?” Steve asked quietly. “With another man?”

He said _this_ , like they were already doing something. Maybe they were, if Steve’s determined look was anything to go by.

Bucky was startled, though they were the only ones there. He hesitated. “Sort of.”

Steve’s shot him a sideways glance. “What does that mean?”

“I—It’s just . . .” Bucky stammered. “It was kind of an accident.”

Steve looked at Bucky like he was crazy. Bucky started to worry what Steve was going to say. He might hate that Bucky had let another man touch him. He might be completely disgusted.

But then Steve started to laugh. “An accident?”

Bucky’s face grew hot. “Not exactly. It was . . . I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“How could it be an accident? Like you tripped and your lips landed on his?” Steve seemed to remember where he was. He turned to look around and make sure that no one was around to overhear, but the street was empty.

“I didn’t let him kiss me,” Bucky said quickly. “I wouldn’t . . . well, it just wasn’t like that. It didn’t mean anything.”

Steve’s smile softened at that. “It’s never really meant anything to me either, I guess.”

“Wait, you—you’ve—” Bucky took a breath and tried again. “You’ve done this before? With—I mean—I didn’t think you ever even thought about sex.”

Steve frowned a little at that. “Bucky, I’m twenty years old.”

Steve, with another man. Other _men_ maybe. Touching them. His mouth. A hot stab of jealousy went through Bucky’s gut, replaced by slow curling tide of arousal. His mouth went dry.

He turned to Steve, but he could hear the bus coming around the corner, and they had to board. It wasn’t crowded that late at night, but still, they didn’t say a word to each other during the long ride through the city streets and across the bridge.

When they finally reached their stop and got off the bus, Bucky couldn’t let the subject drop. “I didn’t think you thought about it at all,” he admitted. “Much less . . . you know, like this. I just thought— ” He wracked his brain for a way to explain. What he felt—this lust, uncontrollable, from out of nowhere—he couldn’t imagine Steve feeling anything like that. “You just seem so . . . _good_.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve said it quietly, so it didn’t sound like a challenge. “Do you really think it’s bad? You think I’m a bad person because I think about it?”

“No.” Bucky replied automatically, because he would never think that Steve was a bad person. Yet Bucky’d been feeling guilty about every impure thought about Steve that came into his brain, and he remembered the conversation they’d had about Eileen—how Bucky didn’t respect her.

“But you were mad at me, when I went out with Eileen,” Bucky pointed out. “You didn’t approve.”

“No, Buck, I was jealous.”

“Oh.”

Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a shove. “You don’t have to look so happy about it.”

“I’m not,” Bucky said, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Steve was grinning too though. They stood there in the street, just looking at each other like a couple of idiots, until Steve’s face grew serious.

“Bucky?”

Bucky couldn’t answer.

Steve stepped close, so that his chest was almost pressing against Bucky’s.

“Do you really think it’s wrong?”

Maybe he’d been a little unfair to Steve, thinking of him as too good, putting him on a pedestal. He wasn’t a perfect angel—Bucky knew that better than anyone—and he shouldn’t have to pretend to be. Bucky couldn’t condemn Steve for wanting this, but that also meant he couldn’t condemn himself, and that was a lot harder to swallow.

Steve’s hand gently squeezed Bucky’s arm. “Do you think it’s wrong that I want to touch you?”

Just hearing that made Bucky feel weak in the knees. He’d always thought that was only an expression, but his legs turned to rubber when he thought of Steve’s hands on his skin.

“God, Steve.”

“Do you?”

“No, I don’t. I just . . .” He made a vague frustrated gesture. “This is—I mean, I never thought I was—”

“I know,” Steve said kindly, giving Bucky’s arm another squeeze. “I know it’s not easy. Believe me. When I first realized how I feel about you—” He shook his head. “Let’s just say it took me a while to adjust my thinking. But do you trust me?”

Bucky answered promptly. “You know I do.”

“Then trust me when I say you get used to the idea.” He leaned even closer then, and then, so quietly that Bucky could barely hear, he said, “Do you have any idea the kind of things I’ve been thinking? The things I want to do to you?”

After that, Bucky started walking very, very fast.

Steve closed the door firmly behind them, turning the lock with a click. He turned to Bucky and smiled, but neither of them moved. Bucky stood in the middle of the floor, hands fidgeting in his pockets. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

Steve approached Bucky slowly, as if worried how he would react, but it was relief to feel Steve’s hands close around his arms. Then Steve tilted up his chin and kissed him, and it was perfect—so easy and comfortable it was almost familiar.

Bucky cradled Steve’s jaw in both hands and kissed him again. This time it was more heated. Steve’s hand slid around Bucky’s waist to rest at the small of his back. After a third tender kiss, Steve’s tongue darted out to sweep across Bucky’s bottom lip, and he gasped. Steve chuckled and pulled Bucky closer.

The next time their mouths met, Bucky parted his lips eagerly. Their tongues slid together, and Steve let out a low moan. He pulled away to push off Bucky’s coat and tug at his tie. Bucky tried to open Steve’s coat, but his fingers felt clumsy. He fumbled until Steve’s fingers closed over his, then gave up, letting Steve take care of the buttons himself.

Steve started to undo Bucky’s shirt as he kissed him again. Bucky closed his eyes and slid his mouth down over Steve’s jaw to his neck, while he reached around Bucky with both hands to yank his shirttail out of his pants. He tossed the shirt on the floor and slid his cold hands up under Bucky’s undershirt, making him shiver.

“Your hands are freezing,” Bucky said into the skin behind Steve’s ear.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “I still haven’t found my gloves.”

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve more tightly. “God, don’t apologize.”

“Warm them up for me?” Steve said playfully. He stuck his hands down the back of Bucky’s pants.

Bucky yelped at the touch of Steve’s cold fingers on his ass, but then Steve grabbed him roughly and hauled him forward so that their bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. Bucky dove in for another kiss, sliding his tongue into Steve’s mouth. Steve gave Bucky’s ass another firm squeeze. Bucky could feel Steve’s dick straining against the front of his trousers.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed out. “On the bed. Please.”

Bucky hummed his agreement into Steve’s mouth, but he wasn’t willing to let go. They moved together, kissing all the while, stumbling and awkward, until Bucky’s left leg hit the edge of the bed and Steve shoved him down onto the mattress.

Steve crawled on top, hovering over Bucky on all fours. He tugged at Bucky’s undershirt until Bucky sat up and pulled it off. He felt the tug of the tender muscles over his ribcage, but he forgot all about that when Steve reached for his belt, tugged on the buckle, and tore open his fly.

“God, Steve.”

Steve smiled down at Bucky, a devilish grin Bucky’d never seen on his face before. It made Bucky’s pulse race, and he pulled Steve down for a kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. Steve wriggled away to tug Bucky’s pants down his legs, but he was still wearing his shoes. Steve wrestled with the tangle.

“Hold on.” Bucky sat up, yanked the whole mess off his feet, and threw it on the floor.

Steve laughed, and his eyes swept over Bucky’s body. He felt more than naked with Steve looking at him like that. But then Steve took a gulp of air, ran a hand up Bucky’s thigh, and leaned close to kiss him. He let Steve push him back onto the pillows.

Steve knelt on the bed to strip off his own clothes. Bucky had seen Steve undressed, of course, but never like this. Bucky caught just a glimpse—had just enough time to realize that not all of Steve was small—before he threw himself down on top of Bucky, settling between his legs. Steve’s hands were in Bucky’s hair, his tongue in Bucky’s mouth. His dick slid into the crease where Bucky’s leg met his body, and his hips ground down, pressing Bucky’s dick between their bellies.

Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s, kissed Steve’s neck, sucked at his collarbone. Steve moved faster, his breath huffing loudly in Bucky’s ear. Bucky slid his hand down Steve’s back and gave his ass a tentative squeeze.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve panted out.

So Bucky tried it again, grasping more firmly. Steve lifted his head for a kiss, then pushed himself up on both hands so that he could move more freely, thrusting against Bucky. He groaned out Bucky’s name and his body went taut. Bucky felt a molten hot flood across his belly. Steve cried out and then collapsed across Bucky’s chest.

Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, dizzy with disbelief. Steve was still for a long while, panting, while Bucky smoothed his hair and stroked his back.

Once he’d caught his breath, Steve pushed away and gave Bucky a sheepish smile. For a moment, Bucky worried that Steve was already starting to regret it, but then he apologized. “I didn’t mean to be so fast.”

A jumbled mixture of “Steve” and “no” and “c’mere” was all Bucky could choke out before pulling Steve into a kiss.

Steve looked down at the mess on Bucky’s belly and grimaced, but Bucky didn’t mind. There was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him he was filthy, but he ignored it: he liked it, liked that Steve had made such a mess, evidence of how much he wanted him.

Steve used a corner of the sheet to wipe up both Bucky and himself, then gave Bucky a lingering kiss. Settling himself with his head on Bucky’s shoulder, he ran a hand over Bucky’s chest, down across his belly, and over to his hip. Bucky felt painfully aware of the fact that his dick was still poking out eagerly—he was desperate for Steve to touch him.

“What do you like?” Steve asked quietly.

The question embarrassed Bucky. He’d liked it before, when Steve was so excited he just took what he wanted. He turned his head to give Steve a quick kiss and whispered, “I like you.” He felt stupid the second he said it. He’d never been one for mushy talk, even with girls, but Steve smiled at him.

“I mean, what do you like to do?”

“Believe me,” Bucky said, breathless at the feel of Steve’s fingers skating over his ribs. “You’re doing just fine.”

“There’s stuff I want to do, but maybe I should ask first.”

“You can do anything you want.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Anything?”

Bucky closed his eyes, nodded, and pulled Steve close for another kiss.

“Are you sure?” Steve whispered. “Cause I have a lot of ideas.” He planted a kiss in the middle of Bucky’s chest. “I don’t want to scare you, Buck, but I think about sex a lot.” His tongue traced a line down the middle of Bucky’s stomach and paused at his belly button. “Pretty much whenever you’re in the room.”

Bucky started to laugh, but then Steve’s mouth closed around his dick, and he couldn’t breathe. Steve took Bucky deep into his mouth, his tongue working the underside as Bucky fisted his hands in the blankets, trying not to yell.

Steve pulled off and touched Bucky with his hand, a good firm grasp, setting a rhythm that Bucky could copy, pushing up into Steve’s fist. Bucky groaned. Steve slid up the bed to kiss him, his hand still stroking.

“Do you know how many times I’ve watched you get up in the morning?” Steve whispered. “Getting out of bed with your dick half hard? I try not to look, but—” He gave Bucky a deep kiss. “You go down the hall to wash up, and I stick my hand in my shorts, trying to hurry up and come before you get back.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s head and plunged his tongue into his mouth. Steve moaned, sucking on Bucky’s tongue before pulling away and wriggling back down to lick Bucky’s dick from root to tip.

“The things I want to do to you,” Steve said as he nuzzled between Bucky’s legs. “So gorgeous. I want to touch every inch of you.”

Steve’s sucked at the tip of Bucky’s dick, his hand wrapped around the base. Steve’s mouth, and his hands, and the things he was saying—Bucky was close.

“Steve.”

Steve took more of Bucky into his mouth, and his hand moved down, rubbing at the tender skin behind Bucky’s balls.

“Oh god, Steve.”

Steve lifted his head. “You like that?” he asked, pressing a little harder. Then his fingers went lower, sliding into the crack of Bucky’s ass, rubbing gently. “You like it?”

Bucky’s face was flaming hot. He couldn’t speak, but he let out a whimper. Steve laughed, low and sexy. Bucky never would have thought he’d hear a sound like that come out of Steve.

Steve took Bucky’s dick into his mouth again, still rubbing at his asshole. Bucky felt like he was burning up, every part of his body on fire with pleasure. Steve sucked hard. Bucky was so close, but Steve pulled off again, without stopping the movements of his hand. 

“Buck, you’re so—I can’t even.”

“Please, Steve.”

Steve licked Bucky’s dick messily. “God, I want—” Steve’s finger pressed slightly inside. Bucky gasped, and Steve moved his hand away.

“God, yes,” Bucky cried out. “Please Steve.”

“I want—” Steve’s fingers returned, tracing gentle circles. “Will you let me fuck you?”

“Oh, God.”

“I want you so bad, Buck.”

“Anything . . . anything.”

Bucky pushed up into Steve’s mouth. Steve swallowed him down began to move in earnest, bobbing his head up and down, sucking hard until Bucky was panting for breath, white hot pleasure building until it exploded up his spine and down to his toes. The second wave was even stronger than the first, pulling Bucky’s muscles rigid, then melting them into liquid until he was too weak to move.

Steve crawled up and kissed Bucky sweetly, though he was too far gone to properly kiss him back.

“Bucky?”

Bucky grunted.

When Steve next spoke, he sounded a little uncertain. “Are you all right?”

Bucky laughed weakly. “That’s kind of an understatement.”

It was almost as if Bucky could _hear_ Steve smile, which was good because he sure couldn’t lift his head to see it, not just yet.

Steve fell down next to Bucky with his head on his shoulder, and Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s back, his fingers settling over his ribcage like they were made to fit just there. Steve ran his hand over Bucky’s chest, humming out an appreciative sound. It made Bucky feel strangely self-conscious.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?” Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s waist and gave him a tight, one-armed hug. “Did you really think I never thought about sex?”

Bucky rolled onto his side to face Steve. “I’m stupid,” Bucky admitted between kisses. “I am so, so stupid.”

Steve laughed, and Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s neck.

They were quiet for a long while, and Bucky thought that Steve was asleep until he spoke. “I went to see Mr. MacNally this morning. I asked for my job back.”

Bucky pulled away so he could look at Steve’s face. “You did?”

“He said he was angry at me, but he kept smiling, and he shook my hand about a million times while I was trying to get out of there.”

Bucky knew he was forgiven, that he had been forgiven for some time, but he didn’t want to say anything that might sound like _I told you so_. “I’m glad.”

“You should have kept that job for yourself,” Steve said.

“Nah, that wasn’t for me.”

Steve smiled at him, and Bucky’s insides flopped over. He really was gone for Steve—had been for a long time, hadn’t he?

“But I’m only going to stay there on one condition.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have to stop working so much. You don’t have to take care of me.”

 _Yes, I do_ , Bucky wanted to say. But he didn’t, because he saw what Steve was getting at. “Okay.”

“Maybe you could drop back to part-time at the cannery?” 

Bucky pressed close, pushing his nose into Steve’s messy hair. He’d rather give up time at the restaurant. It was going to be so awkward there, having to avoid Jack and probably Eileen now too. “Maybe I could quit the restaurant. Save the money in fares. I could find something closer.”

“You know, I had an idea . . .” Steve’s hand rubbed at the back of Bucky’s neck.

“What?”

“MacNally’s starting to hire people for the new line he’s putting together. The pay is good, especially for men with experience. I bet you could get a little more than at the cannery.” Steve gave the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck a gentle tug. “I could put in a good word for you.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“I bet MacNally would give you the day shift. You’re family, right?” 

It sounded too good to be true. Giving up the cannery and the restaurant, no more long bus ride into the city. But it was hard to think about giving up the extra income.

Steve’s voice lost its teasing tone and went quieter. “We could have our evenings free. Together.” 

Bucky kissed Steve’s jaw. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Steve pushed himself up onto one elbow and squinted down at Bucky suspiciously. “Just maybe?”

“Maybe. If I could even get a job with MacNally—”

“You will,” Steve interjected.

“—and maybe if Tom’s dad would take me back doing moves so I can earn just a little extra . . .”

“Yeah?”

The small, hopeful smile on Steve’s face was impossible to resist. “Yeah,” Bucky agreed, and Steve’s grin grew wider.

“Good,” Steve said, his hand sliding down Bucky’s back, coming to rest on his hip. “Because you’re going to need to conserve your energy.”

Bucky’s voice came out with a higher pitch than he’d intended. “Oh, yeah?”

“Cause I’ve got _plans_.” Steve shoved Bucky flat on the bed and crawled on top of him, kissing him like he never wanted to stop.

THE END


End file.
